Ista's Journey
by Joska
Summary: Ista is a blind Bard from Jkatha. How will she deal with the loops that destiny is about to throw into her well ordered life. Sequel to 'The rise and the fall'
1. Blind Sunrise

Ista's Journey

Chapter One

Morning in Jkatha

Authors note: I own almost all the characters in this chapter. 'Cept for Merili and Albayah. This is the story that comes after 'The rise and the fall'. I would've used the other story as a prologue, but I think it's better as a stand alone because it's so long.

I like reviews. Please review. I'll have more up this week, but I needed to put this up and get a feeling for what people think. Yes, some things don't make sense, but all will be explained in the coming chapters.

In short, Please review!

* * *

As the sun burst through the window in the morning, a small shape stirred inside the even smaller bed. With a sleepy grumble, a young girl of about 14 rose from her comfortable bed and walked the few paces over to the overly large bed in the center of the sun drenched room, then paused to think.

With a start, the girl twirled around and walked over to the large dresser and removed several sets of clothing. A pair of plain khaki coloured breeches, some small clothes, an overly elaborately red and silver embroidered top and a simple grey woollen cloak were pulled from the dresser with care and brought to the side of the large bed.

Pausing for a moment, Genyi watched the young woman who was sleeping in the bed and wondered how someone who looked so innocent by night could be such a holy terror when she was awake. Though her Temper was legendary among the halls of the Jkatha Bardic Institute, so was her talent. And though many students thought she was a complete monster, those generally were the students who did not possess the level of Talent that was needed to be a master Bard.

"Ista," said Genyi, reaching over and shaking the young bard from her slumber, "Ista it's time to get up. It's a bright and sunny day. No clouds anywhere."

"Damn, what do I have to do today?" replied the blind bard, sitting up and running her hands through her long brown locks. No one would ever really say that Ista was a beauty to behold, because she wasn't. She looked like every other woman you could find on the streets of Throne City, compounded by the fact that the faraway glazed look in her eyes gave off the notion of stupidity to the untrained eye.

"We have class this morning," answered Genyi, walking over to her own dresser to pull on her own simple khaki robes which marked her place as a personal assistant to a 'highborn', "And then we have a meeting with some of the new children. Talent discovery. And then dinner, and in the evening we have a meeting with King Albayah and a private performance for he and his court. Oh, and Noran wants you to finally put the final touches on that dance piece you wrote."

"I do so like Queen Merili," said Ista, smiling as she groped around on the bed for the clothes she knew that Genyi had set out for her, "Wait what dance piece?"

"The one for fiddle, drums, guitar, harp and voice. The one about being up and not coming down. The happy one. You were dancing around the room when you wrote it."

"I gave him that one? And now I have to finish it? Gods I work too much…Where are my clothes!" shouted Ista, her voice filled with frustrations at her own limitations.

"They're on the bedside table," said Genyi gently, watching as the blind bard fumbled for her clothing. Genyi and Ista were a perfect match for each other. Genyi was a minstrel with incredible talent for performance, but no Bardic gift and no creativity. When she was told she would never be a bard, she broke down and cried. Ista, who was a bard with eight years on the girl, found her crying in her study. Ista was outraged that the college would turn away someone with the makings of a fantastic minstrel. She took the girl as her apprentice, and in turn Genyi began to act as a guide for Ista.

Though Ista, at 23, was well known all through Jkatha, she was unable to function on her own. Half of being a bard was appearance, and Ista never got that down. When she started out, she often showed up late, or looking like a ragbag. Genyi fixed that, ordering Ista's schedule and arranging her life to make it easier. Genyi, in turn, got access to all of Ista's incredible music, and the chance to perform without being expected to compose. And though she took all of Ista's music through dictation, she knew that it would never be hers. But for Genyi, the chance to be known for her performances was worth anything, even being nursemaid for a sometimes cranky and temperamental bard.

"Am I wearing something overly delicate?" asked Ista, "Because I am going riding today and you're not coming with me, and I refuse to look like a slob."

"The shirt's embroidered. We'll change before your performance tonight, so no worries there, so yes, you can ride and there's nothing they can do or say."

"What classes do I have this morning?" queried Ista as she pulled on her cloak. Genyi walked over and got onto the bed behind Ista and began to pull the woman's long brown hair into a pile that would sit and stay on top of her head. Though Ista wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, she was able to have any man she wanted. This meant any man with a brain, which suited Ista just fine. If some man wanted her just cause she was pretty, she wasn't sure if she wanted him.

"You have four exams in the first candlemark, then a mark of wind choir, then two half mark private lessons. One is with Fridley, and that's to help with his composition, and the other is with a new student, Elbe. She's a good bard but lacks the performance skills. The headmaster isn't sure if she doesn't have it in her, or if she's just not confident," listed Genyi, taking mental notes of what she would be doing during the lessons. In addition to her basic duties with Ista, she performed many others, such as arranging for performances of Ista's work, and writing out Ista's new music when it was being submitted. The only time Genyi ever sat in on lessons was in the private lessons, and only for the first bit.

Ista had the bad habit of freezing up young performers, and Genyi knew that her presence could help alleviate that nervousness.

"All right. I'll head down to the hall for breakfast. Exams are in the performance hall, right?" said Ista, trying her hardest to not sound pathetic. She knew how dependant she was on Genyi. Without Genyi, Ista would be relegated to the ranks of the bards, and not have her cushy job as a high level instructor at the Jkatha Baric Institute. Genyi kept Ista's life in order.

"Just like your choir and your classes. They decided it was better if you could just stay where YOU and make everyone else move to you, oh great bard of Legend," mocked Genyi with a childish giggle.

"You know, if I wasn't so blind, I would throw something at you," muttered Ista, knowing full well Genyi could hear her. Genyi tried to stifle a giggle, but burst out laughing, full on with snorts and everything. Ista smiled and rose to her feet, and reached for the stick she carried at all times that she used to check where she was walking.

"You could always beat me with that stick of yours," giggled Genyi, "I mean it's so damned BIG you couldn't miss me with it."

"Despite the rumours," snapped Ista, with mock indignation, "I do NOT beat people with my stick. Except for Johan and he doesn't count because I do not like him. At all. And he's too slick."

"You like him. Now go on," said Genyi, laughing heartily as her friend walked towards the door.

"Uh, Genyi," said Ista, "My shoes seem to have migrated from their accustomed place beside the door."

"OH!" said Genyi, searching franticly for a pair of shoes, and then tossing the leather thong sandals at Ista. Ista snapped her hand up and grabbed them out of mid-air, smiling.

"You like to test that, don't you?"

"Sorry," said Genyi, smiling as Ista left the room, the rhythmic tapping of her stick on the floor echoing down the stone hallway.

* * *

"What in gods name is that man doing," thought Ista as she sat through the fourth of her morning exams, "He calls this a ready student. This is not a bard, and he's not even close. Why does Johan think that this student is ready?"

Ista often ran the exams for the Institute. Ista was somewhat of a legend in the school. She had arrived at the age of eight, and was a full bard by sixteen. Some of her professors scoffed at Valdemar's lack of foresight. She had not been accepted by the Bardic Collegium on the grounds she only had one of the three gifts. Had anyone TESTED Ista, they would've found that she did indeed possess the Bardic Gift in spades, but just hadn't shown it when she was young. Instead she was sent, by some well meaning friends, to a small music school in Throne City, the Capital of Jkatha.

Ista had lasted all of three months in the school before a bard actually found her, and realised that the compositions that the headmaster of the school had been submitting were, inactuality, written by a young, lonely Ista. Ista had been dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Institute, and now had to be dragged kicking and screaming to get her OFF institute property.

At twenty-three, Ista was the youngest of the teaching bards. As such, she was given some of the odder assignments. She had not the patience that the older bards had, and therefore was almost never given the young students. She tended to lull them with her kind words, but gods HELP them if they slacked off in Ista's class. Ista only ever took on advanced students, if she had anything to do with it. She ran the fife choir, which played at most of the royal events, and she did the exams.

Ista was a blessing for the examiners of the Institute. Here was someone who could, should and would walk into a room, listen to the technical aspects of a piece, and give her honest opinion. She was never swayed by liking or disliking a student because she never knew who was playing. The technical exam pieces were all alike, and made it impossible to tell one student from another. Ista would never pass a student she didn't think was up to it. Just ask several would be bards who were relegated to minstrel status because they couldn't live up to Ista's standards.

As Ista listened to the student run through one of the advanced level guitar pieces, she ran over in her head all his mistakes. His timing was off. And his pitch was off, but at least that was consistent. He was obviously using alternate chording on the harder parts, and he was slowing down where he shouldn't. Artistic license was important to bards, but that was best left to the final performance exam. The technical exams, a key part of Jkathan Bardic training, were just that. Technical. Play the song as it is written and don't make parts up. Ista had no patience for wanna be improvisers. As the student added an extra arpeggio, Ista stood up, signifying she had had enough.

"You are Johan's student, right?" demanded Ista.

"Yes ma'am," said a timid female voice, which Ista recognized as Angie, a flute virtuoso.

"Well, Miss Angie, that was not acceptable. It was off beat and slow and not up to this level. I'm sorry to say you're going to fail this exam."

"I know miss." Replied Angie, the disgrace evident in her voice.

"You know?" questioned Ista, wondering why this girl took the technical exam if she KNEW she would fail.

"Johan said I needed to. I need two instruments. And he said flute was not enough."

"He didn't allow you to specialize in flute?" asked Ista, her voice softening, trying to use her Bardic gift to sooth the frazzled girl without alerting her.

"He said that I wasn't up to it. That I needed a second instrument," whimpered Angie, who Ista could feel was trying hard not to cry.

"Angie, Sweetling, Johan is being a horses ass and I will fix this. I passed you on your advanced level flute piece a long time ago. I know you're more than capable of being a full level bard soon. And if he Johan tries to say you can't sing, he's just stupid. Your second minor instrument is drums. I'd rather hear a good drummer sing than a bad guitarist. You're not a guitarist and you never will be. But you don't have to be," said Ista, "Now, go and see Genyi. Tell her I sent you to set up an appointment for you and me and the headmaster to talk about this situation. We'll work this out."

"But I have fife choir now," said Angie.

"Yes, yes you do," said Ista, trying to sound tough and strict, "But you never seem to do anything but sit and giggle. You don't need the work. The rest of them, they need help. Go and take a break. I'm sure you can find SOMETHING to do with a free mark."

"Yes ma'am," said Angie, getting up from her seat, taking her instrument and actually running out the door.

"Miss Ista," said the Scribe who was sitting next to Ista, "What shall I write down for her mark?"

"No mark given. See me for details. I'll have Genyi put a note in the file. Angie shouldn't have a bad mark because Johan is so anxious to see her pass on."

"You know Miss," said the Scribe, "For a blind bard, you seem to see everything."

"I'm a bard. My job is to disseminate information. And being blind has nothing to do with that."

* * *

"Okay, Elbe," said Ista, "Now, again from the top."

"Ista," said Elbe, sounding confident for the first time in weeks, "May I ignore the retard in measure fifty two in place of a two measure retard in measure fifty four and fifty five."

"You're the bard," said Ista, walking around the stage.

"Yes, but you wrote this piece. I've learned that you should never take too much licence when dealing with the actual composer," retorted Elbe.

"Good point. No, I don't mind. As long as you make it sound deliberate. That's the problem with my pieces. I know how they SHOULD sound, and don't take kindly to them being played badly," said Ista, placing her hand on Elbe's shoulder as she began to pluck the strains of the slow harp melody. Ista, listening closely, walked over to the door of the hall and opened it slightly; waiting to hear what the person who was breathing heavily behind the door was waiting to say.

"I'm always amused when you do that," whispered Headmaster Epjay, "You just KNOW!"

"You just breathe loud," said Ista, shrugging her shouldered, "What need ye?"

"How's Elbe?"

"Did you know she isn't from Jkatha?" asked Ista, toning her voice to make the headmaster more interested in her little story.

"I thought she was a border brat like you and me."

"No," said Ista, "She's from inner Karse. And the reason she rarely sings is because she has a heavy accent, even in singing. And Johan made her sing, every time she played. Hence the shyness. Look, she could pass my technical exam right now."

"Ah," said Epjay, "You've done it again."

"Seems so."

"Johan would like to see you for lunch."

"I'm aware. I annoyed him. I'll get chewed out, but nothing I've done is not within the powers you've given me."

"Yes," said the headmaster hesitantly, "But you still have to deal with his ravings."

"The trials of Bardic life, right Epjay?"

"I wouldn't change them for the world," said Epjay, as he gently shut the door.

"Elbe," chimed Ista, "That was wonderful. I think this lesson is over because I think we've cured your shyness."

"But but but," stammered Elbe, "I'm still shy. And my Jkathan!"

"Is not a problem," chided Ista, slipping into her 'teacher's voice', "Sweetling, I'm going to give you some of MY music. It's written in Karsite, and you can use it. When someone asks, explain that you prefer to not translate music. As well, I'll see to it that Genyi arranges for you to see someone to aid in your accent. I'm certain I could get you into the diplomatic classes in one of the Karsite Embassy."

"Miss Ista, you're too kind!" said Elbe, practically squealing.

"Don't you tell a soul," snapped Ista, brandishing her stick like a sword, "You'd ruin my reputation for being an iron hearted bitch, and then where would I be?"

"Yes ma'am," replied and ecstatic Elbe, practically bowing and scraping at Ista.

"Now, go for lunch, and eat well!" admonished Ista as Elbe bolted out of the room, "No one likes a scrawny bard. They assume they're not good enough to warrant dinner!"

"You know Ista, I wish you had more students so that I could find more ways to meddle in YOUR affairs," toned a silky voice from behind Ista. Ista stood there and made a face before turning around to face the one bard who always was able to sneak up on her.

"Good day to you Johan. Lovely bright weather we're having," drawled Ista batting her eyelashes at Johan, trying her best to resemble one of the cowed court flowers that overpopulated the city.

"Don't good day me, wench," said Johan, walking forward to the table that sat in front of the performance stage.

"Well, go to hell you stuck up artisto sounded a little pretentious," remarked Ista, turning and following the smell of food to the table. Johan, ever the gentleman, pulled Ista's chair out from behind her and allowed her to sit down.

"So you've been meddling again," said Johan, as he sat down across from Ista and began to eat his lunch. Johan had decided that since Ista was always being dragged from lunch by students, he would bring HER lunch and trap her in the one place people knew not to bother her.

"Angie was terrible. Oh my lord was she bad," wailed Ista, biting into her portion of fish.

"I thought she might pass," said Johan, hopefully.

"No," said Ista, brandishing a fork full of potatoes at Johan, "She was adding things, and didn't you realise she was using alternate chording for key points. And you do know she was playing one of MY pieces. If you wanted her to try and fake it, you should've chosen one I don't know that well."

"Yes well, she should learn guitar! You made her think she doesn't need it and that I'm an idiot," snapped Johan, smacking the table with his spoon.

"And for that I am truly sorry," said Ista, "But she can use the guitar. Just not advanced level. So she'll never be a great guitarist like you or me. Big deal. She's a wonderful flute player. The Queen is already making noise about adding her to the royal orchestra and she's still a year or so from advancing."

"Angie seems to think that she is ready now!" said Johan sarcastically.

"Just wait," said Ista, "She'll come running in to do her advanced drum exam and I'll fairly fail her. She's not ready yet with drums, but she'll NEVER be ready with guitar."

"Whatever," said Johan with a flourish of his hand.

"Are you my partner for the royal performance tonight?" asked Ista, trying to change the subject.

"Indeed," said Johan, "The queen does get tired of the stuffy old guys."

"And we're just…not like them."

"No, we're not," said Johan, wishing for once that Ista could see him smile. He and Ista were Kindred spirits and always had been. They met when she arrived at the Institute. He was fourteen at the time and very annoyed that a little child had been placed in his class, and even more annoyed when she surpassed him in talent. But over the years they had developed a great friendship, and were among the most requested performers in Throne City. Johan was a guitarist like no other, and Ista was known for her warm Mezzo soprano voice that could carry through a hall like a warm summer breeze.

"I was looking through your scores again," sputter Johan, ending the awkward silence, "and found a song we've never played. It's had, like, four titles. 'Rise up and face the fear, or 'See me' but the last one says 'Bergen's night'. Why haven't we played it? I love this song. I love the duelling guitar parts, and the string arrangement is just heaven. The harmonies are so daring yet beautiful, yes discordant."

"I'm saving that one," said Ista, "It's saved for when we see someone from Valdemar. It's actually popular there."

"It is?" puzzled Johan, "Why?"

"It's about a…my…past. And I left my first score of it in Valdemar. They don't have the same one we have, but it's similar."

"Okay. Then what shall we perform?"

"How about Patience is a virtue, followed by that new modern piece that you and Fridley arranged," suggested Johan, "It's a private short performance. One ballad and one of our songs is all they need."

"Do you have an extra good guitar? Mine is in the shop. Some lazy minstrel sat on it. I was appalled. I mean, I'm BLIND for heavens sakes and I don't sit on stuff!" whined Ista.

"True," said Johan, "But you do have a tendency to smack people with that damn stick of yours."

"Only below the knees!" interjected Ista with a smile, "And we bards don't need our legs! And short children with hands at that level just need to be careful. I'm the blind one, I get to win!"

"You know what I think!" said Johan in mock anger.

"Don't know. Don't care. Don't have time," said Ista, getting up and hurrying off a split second before the bell rang to signify the lunch hour. Johan shook his head of red curls and sighed. Ista frustrated him, and he was never sure why. And if he was sure, he would not admit it.


	2. Prospective and Retrospective

Ista's Journey

Chapter Two

The halls of music

Authors note: Chapter two. Yay. Just to clear some things up:

Ista(Iss-ta) Genyi(Jen-yee) Albayah (Al –bye-ah) Rhian (Ree-anne) Johan (Yo-han)

Yes, I know the prologue is separate. But to me, it just seemed right. And I will be used chapters from here on. But that first one was a stand alone I wrote a long time ago. It doesn't feel right to me, the author, if it's chunked in here.

Why isn't Ista in Valdemar? That's for me to write and you to wait for?...not that you have to wait long. It was something I was saving. I'm actually a canon Nazi. I've been referencing all sorts of names in my 'Valdemar Companion'. It's a must have book for lovers of the series. And for those who wish to be able to yell at those who break canon and back themselves up.

* * *

Ista had spent most of her lunch hour going over music with her students, and was bright and ready for something new by the time the afternoon bell rang. Ista walked around the commons, gathering up music papers, and awaited Genyi.

Genyi hurried down the halls as soon as she heard the bell. She realised she had forgotten to tell Ista where her next appointment was, and that meant that Ista was lost and likely wandering aimlessly around the common.

Genyi hastily pulled her long ice blond hair into a bun as she ran, so that she would less like a ragbag when she entered the next room with Ista. Ista was set to help devise schooling for some of the new children, aged 6 to 12, and therefore Genyi would not leave them alone together. Ista could be downright scary when faced with arrogant people who thought they were truly talented. It was one thing for Ista to teach a trembling youngster, but a complete other to set her on some young thing who had it in their fool head to be the next Ista when they were just 12 and didn't know their major scales from their minors.

"Genyi," wailed Ista, "Genyi have you seen my folder with simple music?"  
"Coming Milady," responded Genyi with a smile. She didn't mind seeming like Ista's servant. Ista was a sweet woman who loved Genyi like her own sister. She just was very ashamed by her own limitations. Genyi realised that by making it seem like she needed to fetch something, it hid the fact that Ista was completely lost.

"There you are," sighed Ista as Genyi handed Ista a simple folder. Genyi turned towards the north hall and walked away slowly, waiting for Ista to catch up. The two walked together down the hall, the rhythmic tapping of Ista's cane punctuating the silence.

Genyi stifled a giggle as they neared the room. No doubt that one of the older students had warned the new ones about the coming of the Blind Bard, who could be the end of their careers. Ista knew how to make an entrance, and would likely scare the daylights out of several of the youngest children.

"I'm told there's a powerful gift in here," slyly whispered Ista as they neared the practice hall, "I might have to take a young apprentice, if that's okay with you."

"As long as I don't lose my spot as your favourite performance partner," said Genyi.

"Never," replied Ista, "I'd rather play with you than anyone. Sometimes, having two Bardic gifts on stage is just as bad as having two bad players."

"Here it is," said Genyi, opening the wooden door.

"I can feel the tension," said Ista, pausing and leaving her stick before walking into the room. Genyi leaned on the doorframe and smirked as the children all took in a collective gasp.

"Now child-lings," said Ista, looking every inch the master bard, flourishing every movement with a hand gesture, of a facial movement, "Welcome to the Jkatha Bardic Institute. I see…well I don't see anything but I can discern that every one of you thinks that you're just the greatest little prodigy ever. You got picked by a bard and sent here. Well, guess what. You're not. There are very few who ever become full bards, and even fewer who become master bards. And I would rather not lie to you. So there's the truth. You are here to become the best player you can be, which may or may not be enough to become a fantastic bard.

"And to those of you who think I am just ranting at you like a lunatic, I assure you, I'm not. I may be blind, but I am not stupid, nor am I cruel. I say what I think, when it's important. I'm a professor, and that is my right. And don't any of you think that you'll never have to deal with me again. I'm here and I run the examinations. The technical ones. Meaning if you're nothing but a fumble-fingered singer, I'll know.

"And now, onto the fun part. Your first exam begins now. You all have a simple piece in front of you called Ironheart. I want you to begin playing it. When I tap you on the shoulder, stop playing and remember the number I give you.

Ista paused and lifted her hands, then gave the downbeat. No one started. Genyi giggled.

"Genyi, why don't YOU conduct them and I'll listen," said Ista, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Ista liked to scare the littles. It made them give her fearful respect until they realised she deserved proper respect.

"Yes, Milady," said Genyi, walking to the center of the room and raising her arms, mouthing to the children to start when she waved her arms. Several of the smaller ones smiled for the first time, all nerves gone.

"Begin," said Ista. Genyi began to conduct and the children began to go through the song. Ista listened, and immediately walked over to the corner of the room. A small drummer was tapping the beat, but it was being overshadowed by a strong gift. Ista couldn't feel the gifts of any others because of this one child.

"Sweetling," said Ista, crouching down to be on the child's level, "What is your name?"

"Rhian Carter," the child sputtered.

"All right Sweetling, you're number one. I'll speak to you after class," said Ista, touching the girls face with her hand. Rhian seemed to be no more than seven or eight; the same age that Ista had been when she arrived at the Institute.

"Do I have to return to my village?" asked Rhian, trying to hold back tears.

"No, little one, of course not. I stopped you for a good reason. Now, just be patient, okay?" reassured Ista.

"Yes ma'am!" piped Rhian.

Ista began to walk again, listening. It was much clearer now that Rhian had turned off that mighty strong gift of hers. There were sixteen other children. And out of them, seven had the gift, five had real musical talent, and four had somehow managed to bully, bargain or badger their way here. Ista sighed as she walked around the room. As the music stopped, Ista motioned to Genyi to continue. The song struck up again, and Ista stopped two girls sitting near the door. They were talented. A fiddler and a guitarist, Ista thought they might be twins, because their music meshed to well, but no gift. Then Ista stopped the four who really weren't very good. Then slowly, Ista counted off the gifts from weakest to strongest. By the time she finished, everyone in the room was buzzing with Nerves.

"All right, everyone but Rhian should go to the performance hall now. You'll know your new schedules in a week, and for now you'll just attend the basic classes."

"Basic classes?" said one of the untalented, ungifted boys, "I'm way beyond basic. I've been composing since I was 7."

"Really?" said Genyi, "We've never heard your name here before. And that means your music has never been submitted, which means NO bard has ever found you to have the gift of composition. In addition, your sight reading was atrocious. Now, please listen to Milady Ista."

"Thank you Genyi," replied Ista, "Basic classes are something you'll do now till you graduate. Basic simply means something everyone does. But don't think that because you have some sort of rudimentary grasp of musical notation that you can slack off. We train some of the best bards around. You will do your work, or you'll be out on your ass. Now, off with you!"

"Well plays Ista," said Genyi quietly as she stood next to her friend, watching the littles run for their lives out of Ista's room, "I think you put the fear of god into them. The ones who actually matter anyways."

"Now," said Ista, "Rhian. You're likely wondering why I kept you."

"Yes ma'am," said Rhian.

"I have plans for you, my little drummer girl."

"Anything you want Ma'am."

"You'll let me do whatever I want."

"Yes ma'am."

"Rule one," said Ista, kneeling down at the level of the girl, "Is that I am not some sort of god. I'm a bard, and a damn fine one if I do say so myself. You don't have to be so meek and mild around me."

"Yes ma'am," said Rhian, hanging her head in shame.

"Where are you from?" asked Genyi, taking over for Ista.

"Atabar," said Rhian, "I was raised there."

"Parents?" asked Rhian.

"My mother works in the tavern and my dad…" trailed off Rhian.

"You want to be here, we need to know everything about you," said Ista gruffly, "I'm an orphan born in Rethwellan, grew up a little in Karse, and then lived in Valdemar until I was bounced here to Jkatha. I never had a family until I ended up here, but now I do. I have the music, I have Genyi, and I hope to have you."

"I'm the bastard daughter of one of the fifty families of Mornedealth. A high ranking noble and a guardsman. As soon as I was old enough, they packed me off to here, to the school. They don't love me, and never have. But I'm happy here," said Genyi, trying to soothe the poor frightened child.

"My mother…she worked in the taverns," said Rhian, "She's younger than you, Ista."

"How old are you?" asked Ista.

"Eight. My mother is twenty one. She couldn't take care of me. So she sent me to live with my aunt. Who died. And left me to the woodcutter. He…hurt his other daughters, and then he tried to hurt me, but his oldest daughter killed him," whimpered Rhian, "And then she sent me here. She knew I played well."

"Rhian," said Ista, "You know what. You're going to stick with me. I'll take care of you, at least for the first little while. How old are you?"

"Six," whispered Rhian. Genyi smiled, for she knew they had uncovered the trouble with Rhian. Cut-off age for entrance to the Institute was 8, without a patron.

"Genyi, fetch Angie for me. She's going to show Rhian around the institute. I'm going to go to the headmaster and speak to him about keeping her here. I'll be her patron if I have to."

With that, Rhian burst into tears. Ista looked shocked, and Genyi stifled another giggle. Ista never understood small children and their little habit of bursting into tears at moments when they should be happy.

"Also, fetch a mind healer or something," said Ista, in quick Rethwellian, "I think she may be deranged."

"She's six Ista," said Genyi, "Give her a hug."

Ista looked at Genyi like she had just said 'Shove yourself in a pile of horse dung', and then turned to the small child. Ista opened her arms and Rhian just buried her face in the bards shoulder. Ista grimaced as her lovely cloak was drench in snot, but held the girl tightly.

"I swear I am never having children" fumed Ista in her head. And at that point, she was glad she was not in Valdemar. No witch-y heralds reading her thoughts in good old Jkatha.

* * *

Ista sat back in her chair and stretched out. For the first time in the day, she was truly alone with herself. Genyi was off getting Rhian settled into her new home, Johan was with one of his students, the headmaster was teaching a master class in harp, and all the students and other professors knew better than to bother the temperamental blind bard when Genyi was not around to keep her from ranting.

Not that Ista truly liked going off on students, but she honestly could not handle the work all the other professors did. Ista knew she would never be a bard like the headmaster. She would be a professor for the rest of her days, always teaching. She might even be the Queens Own Bard, but never like the rest.

Ista would never travel to far off lands. She couldn't even dress herself, let alone survive like every other bard. Every year, she helped send bards to all the corners of Jkatha, while she herself had not been outside throne city since she arrived. It was just not possible.

The headmaster often wondered if the fact that Ista WAS a prisoner in the city was the reason she wrote such beautiful music. There was no such thing as a legendary bard with a happy life, and Ista was on the verge of legend. Her music was spread from Vanterlunde to Valdemar, from Acabarrin to Iftel and everywhere in between. Ista was leaving her mark on the world of music.

And yet she was unhappy. She was unable to care for herself, relying heavily on young Genyi to make sure she kept up with what was expected. The more she did, the more was expected and the more she needed Genyi. The headmaster often longed to tell off the king and queen for requiring so much of the blind bard. He knew that she could cope with her professorship, if she didn't have other duties to attend to.

The only good thing in Ista's life was a pair of old fogies named Kiore and Trivet. Kiore was a mage, and a good one in her day, but years of magic left her tired. Trivet, her husband, was an artificer. Together, they invented a creation to allow Ista some freedom. It was a metal device that was laden with keys. Each key produced a sound that only the user could hear. And as the user stuck the key and held it, it made a mark on a piece of paper. A melding of magic and machinery allowed Ista to write her own compositions without the need of Genyi. It was one thing to ask Genyi to write down lyrics, but another to ask her to do Ista's entire musical notation.

Ista sat with her device, known as a Rasch, and began to run her fingers over the keys, allowing the music to flow. It was like she was in her own little world, running her nimble fingers over the keys, holding chords with one hand while tapping out complex inverted arpeggios with the other.

It was a lovely new song, an arrangement for two harps, a brass horn and one very talented fifer. Ista figured she could use it at the next court function. It was complex and deep and beautiful, but at the same time it wasn't so off the wall that the nobles of Throne City would think she was nothing but a rebel.

As Ista finished the song, she stood up and stretch. She reached up towards the ceiling, then back until her hands were resting on the ground behind her. She arched her body and brought her feet over, in some sort of weird and awkward acrobatic trick. Ista giggled as she rose to her feet again, and then settled back down in her chair. She had finished the piece that Noran, the bard in charge of the Bardic musical repertoire, had wanted.

Ista realised that soon it would be her time to attend to the needs of the palace. She had a meeting with the king and queen, as well as a short performance. No doubt some visiting dignitary wished to see the music of Jkatha, which was indeed.

Ista sat and pondered, as she often did. She wondered about her life in Jkatha, if maybe it would've been different if she'd done something different. If she'd never met Genyi, or become famous.

She often wondered how they did things in the Bardic collegium in Valdemar. It was one of Ista's favourite daydreams. One where she could be with Petra and Cleria, he dear friends. Or maybe even with Bergen, the man who changed her life. It all could've been different.

* * *

Ista sat with her head between her knees, trying hard to not think of Bergen. His death was still a raw wound on the eight year olds heart, but she knew she had to be strong. He would want it.

A young woman dressed in Scarlet walked over and sat down next to Ista, looking at the young girl. Her intuitive gifts said she didn't have the Bardic gift, but the last minstrel who spoke to them said she might have the other two requirements.

"Hi Ista," said the Bard, "I'm Brea."

"Hello Brea," muttered Ista.

"I'm a bard," said Brea, using the tone she reserved for 'special children', as was her forte.

"Really?" said Ista, "That's nice."

"You know why I'm here?"

"No."

"I think YOU should be a Bard."

"No."

"No?" asked Brea.

"No," insisted Ista, "I'm going to be a weatherwitch. I'm going to stay here."

"They told me you're a gifted player, and that you can write music," said Brea, trying to be cheerful. Brea was a little unsure of what to do about this girl. Brea was a new journeyman, with no real experience of recruited the young ones for the Collegium.

"I don't want to play music and I don't want to leave this place and I don't want to talk to YOU!" shouted Ista, her eyes hurting. She was screaming inside for this woman to leave her alone. Didn't she understand? Bergen was gone and Ista wanted nothing more than to follow him. Bergen was the first person who really cared about her.

"Ista, please," said Brea, "I just want to hear you play."

"I said I don't want to play," screamed Ista, her face a picture of childhood rage, "I want you to leave me alone! I don't want you and your stupid collegium or your stupid training."

"Ista, you're making a mistake. Come on. I want to take you to haven."

"I don't want to GO TO haven," ranted Ista, "I want to stay here. I want to be a weather witch and not worry about your stupid music, or your stupid rules."

"The law says I can take you."

"I am not going," screamed Ista. Brea got to her feet and walked over. The twenty year old bard towered over the young child, and in her head decided that this child needed help. She reached out to the girl, taking her wrist in her hand. That did it.

Ista screamed like a banshee and began to thrash. This woman, in Ista's mind, was trying to take her away from Cleria and Petra and Ista did not want to go. As Ista thrashed, she remembered her lessons with Bergen. She began to kick at Brea, until she finally landed one on Brea's wrist, then Ista pushed all her weight down. With a snap, Brea's wrist snapped like a twig.

Brea let go of the child and screamed back. While listening to Ista wail was normal, the bard's scream brought Cleria and Petra running.

"That child is unbalanced," said Brea with disgust, "Even if she could play, who wants a hellion like that. Are you sure she's not deranged?"

* * *

Ista often wondered if things would've been any better in Valdemar. Brea returned to the capital, and Petra and Cleria sent Ista off to Jkatha. Although she might have been accepted to the collegium, Petra and Cleria both figured it was not the place for Ista. She'd been branded by her act of defiance, and she could end up a low level bard for her entire life if she went there. Bard Brea was a highborn, and could hold it over the child, or so thought Petra and Cleria. Petra and Cleria had only really dealt with Heralds and stuck up, gurdge-holding nobles. And Brea had not dealt well with the child. Instead of waiting for the child to come to her, she demanded things of a grieving child. It might've all been different with a more expirienced Bard, but Brea was so young and so new. Her circuit was normally peaceful. No one expected a half mad, blind, grieving musical prodigy.

Ista knew now, from her dealings with Valdemar, that she wouldn't have been treated any differently. Her transgression would've been forgiven in a few years, but Petra and Cleria didn't know that. They were healers who had never paid much attention to the Bardic Collegium while in their collegium. It wasn't truly anyone's fault that Ista didn't stay in Valdemar, just a series of unfortunate, or fortunate, coincidences. Petra decided it would be better to send her somewhere else, somewhere to start fresh with no memories of Bergen, or the broken wrist she caused Brea.

It had been hard, moving to Jkatha. Ista was sent with a Caravan. It had taken months to reach throne city, but they were happy months. Ista lived happily with the merchants, healing the wounds in her heart. By the time she reached throne city, Ista couldn't wait to throw herself back into music. She wrote Bergens Song on her first night in the city, but it was almost four years before she was able to write it down. And it still had never been performed. Ista wondered if she'd ever find a group of people she felt able to appreciate her music.

As the dinner bell rang, Ista rose from her seat and walked out to the dinner hall. She had still had a long night ahead of her.


	3. Political Dancing and Heraldic Doldrums

Ista's Journey

Chapter 3

Political Dancing and Heraldic Doldrums

Joska's Note: Hey hey. I got this done fast.

Please review this. I like knowing people like my stuff. Just please don't comment on you thinking my characters suck. They're all mine…sort of. None of these have ever been seen before, not in their adulthood. Merili and Theodren both appear as children. A cookie to the first reviewer who can tell me Theodren's companions name. It IS in one of the books, I assure you.

However, if you LOVE my characters, tell me. I'll love you forever!

* * *

Ista paced back and forth across her room, wondering what to do. Dinner was over, she had had her ride, and now she needed to go. She had a meeting with the king and the queen, and a performance and she was not dressed for it.

Ista threw up her hands and swore before rushing into the water closet. Ista was lucky. When the Palace was set up next to the Bardic hall, there were a few rooms that were made for palatial guests, but left for bards. Ista won one of them in a bad song contest. She sang the most horrific version of an old song called 'The ride', but mixed it with another song she found that was titled 'Sword lady'. And she sang them badly out of tune. And kept forgetting the words. And repeating verses. An hour later, Ista was the proud occupant of one of the finest Bardic rooms.

Ista stripped to the skin and ducked underneath the sprayed before pulling the chain. A drizzle of hot water, warmed from the boiler, fell onto her. She wet her hair, and then reached for the hair soap she kept by her shower. It smelled of cocoa flowers, and made her long, unruly hair behave. To Ista, it was Sunlord sent.

After a through washing, Ista pulled on a robe and walked over to the door. She sighed and stepped out.

"Milady!" toned the nearest servant, a girl named Milly, "What do you need."

"Milly," sighed Ista, happy she'd found one of the less butterfly-brained servants, "What do you know about hair arrangement?"

"I know the basics," said Milly, rather unsure of herself.

"I need to look presentable at court," said Ista, "And Genyi seems to be off in her own world. Come, help me."

"Yes milady," said Milly, hurrying into the room, gazing around at the plush room.

"Now," said Ista, "First things first. Genyi seems to have not left me a dress. I need to choose something. I don't know colour, and I can't be showing up in a giant bright pink frock. I can tell you if I like the dress by touch, but the colours are all mixed up for me."

"How about this one!" said Milly, pulling out a lovely grey dress.

"That's so helpful," said Ista, trying to sound sarcastic, but succeeding in only sounded amused. Milly shook her head.

"Sorry. It's a lacy grey dress."

"No. I know the one. That's for formal meetings. This is a performance dress. No extra petticoats. Simple."

"I have a black one," said Milly.

"Lacy?"

"Very."

"No. Too formal."

"Red velvet?"

"No. That's a midwinter dress."

"Black and green corset dress…oh wait it has no sleeves," said Milly.

"No! Wait. I remember that one. There should be some sort of frilly matching sleeve thing in my drawer. Fourth from the right, top dresser!" snapped Ista, with excitement.

"Here it is," shouted Milly, her voice excited, "I found the sleeves!"  
"Okay," said Ista, "Now do you do corsets?"

"No," said Milly, "But my brother Hendrix does. He's just down the hall. Get into the dress and he can tie it up in the back."

"Okay," said Ista, taking the dress from Milly and listening for her to close the door. Ista dropped her robe and stepped into the simple dress. It was nothing but a corset with some draped fabric, but Ista loved it. Genyi thought it was a little too provocative, and often hid it from Ista.

Ista pulled the dress up to her collarbone and waited. She felt so silly, being dressed by other people. But a little voice in her head reminded her that she was not the only one to be dressed by others. Queen Merili could not dress herself. In this case Ista had chosen all her clothes by herself.

"Ho, lady Ista," said a young male voice, "My sister has gone to fetch some ribbon. You need my help?"

"Thank you," said Ista, her voice warm and full of gratitude.

"Anything for the kind lady," said the young man, "I'm Hendrix, or Hendy."

"Hendy," said Ista, "You're Navel's and Eli's son."

"I am!" said Hendy, elated that someone as high ranking as Ista knew his family.

"So, please tie me into this horrible contraption," said Ista, grabbing onto the bedpost. Hendy entered, his feet padding softy on the plush carpet. He reached for the strings and stopped.

"You don't mind me doing this?" he said.

"No," said Ista, "Anyone who CAN do this for me deserves major praise."  
"I have six sisters," said Hendy, "Five of which need corsets. I know how to do this."

"My thanks," sighed Ista as she listened to Milly return and climb up onto the bed. She reached out and grabbed Ista's wet hair and began to braid it tightly.

"I got some green ribbon from the princess's room," said Milly, "None of them are wearing green, so I figured that you could use it. Just leave it on your doorknob after and I'll see to it tha it gets back to their little armoire."

"You two are too kind," said Ista. Ista always felt more at home with the help than the nobles. Their quiet dignity was something she wished she could afford. It would be wonderful for Ista to actually be able to braid and do her own hair, rather than play some complex sonata.

"There," said Hendy, tying the corset strings tightly. Ista was very impressed. She could breath, but her silhouette felt slim and curvy.

"You wait outside for a few minutes," said Ista, smiling as Milly fussed with her unruly hair.

"There," said Milly, "It's up in a poof on the back of your head, you look like you spent hours trying to get the mussed up look, instead of minutes trying to get the not mussed up look."

"Again, my thanks," said Ista, getting up and walking back to her dresser. She reached into one of the drawers and pulled out eight gold coins. She pressed four of them in Milly's left hand and the other four into her other.

"My lady?"

"For good service. Now you and Hendy go buy dinner for your whole family. Rabbit pies sounds good, doesn't it. Mention my name at the Bakery, and it'll be yours."

"But…but they all said you're a battleaxe," blurted Milly, "You're not this nice."

"Let me tell you something," replied Ista, pulling her sleeves on, "All those who call me a battleaxe are those I teach. I'm a hellion of a teacher, and even worse of an enemy. But you, you don't have delusions of grandeur, nor do you give me any less respect than any other person, servant or otherwise. I appreciate it. Now, go eat."

"Yes ma'am," said Milly, scampering out the door.

Ista walked back over to her closet and pulled out her shoebox. She felt around in it until she found the shoes that went with the dress. Wooden sandals that laced up her leg in some kind of ribbon. Ista pulled them on, and then walked to her door. From the barrel by her doorframe, Ista felt around the canes. She chose a rather elaborately carved cane that had a leaf motif. It went with green, and Ista knew the dress was black and green, in some order.

With a flurry of motion, Ista said a quick prayer to the Sunlord, opened her door, and began the short walk to the Reception chamber of the Royal Palace.

Five minutes later, Genyi burst into the room, Rhian on her heels. She was frantic. She left Rhian in Ista's room and ran off to make sure that Ista didn't look like she'd just escape from an explosion in a dye shop.

* * *

King Albayah had reigned in Jkatha for almost 20 years. He and his wife, the Queen Merili, were some of the best loved monarchs in the history. Their policies had always been fair, if not well liked. No one ever liked higher taxes, or cuts to programs, but sometimes that had to be done.

Jkatha was a well liked country. It shared borders with Seejay, Ruvan. Velar and Rethwellan. For years it had managed to avoid all sorts of conflicts, save the internal ones that tend to come with dynastic rule. Albayah accepted that and tried to rule Jkatha with an even mind. Some called him evil, but that was only because he tended to not always side with what was thought to be 'the greater good'.

Albayah was a forward thinker, and put a great deal of money into trying to make Jkatha a small and extremely profitable nation. One of his mages thought he might have found a way to construct semi-permanent gates, but that was blood magic, and not to be pursued. It did, however, lead to a new source of magic rising from the earth.

It was that power that lead Albayah to realise he needed more allies. And first on his list was the northern country of Valdemar.

As Albayah sat in the throne room of the high throne tower, his wife Merili at his side, the heralds sent from Valdemar approached him. He knew all about them, even before their arrival. And he knew they needed something. It was nice having the innkeepers like the monarchy. A small lowering of taxes for the inns, and the innkeepers, tavern owners and bartenders were more than happy to spill their guts.

The oldest man was a herald named Theodren, an old man with patience in droves. The silver haired Herald was tired from his ride, but kindly. The female was a hot-headed herald-mage named Tyga, who had little patience for stupidity. And the younger male was just some average young Herald named Heath. The three needed his help, and came right from the queen. It was an interesting turn of events.

"Good day to thee, Majesties," said Herald Theodren, his voice warm and inviting. Merili smiling, knowing full well that the herald was trying to use some odd form the Bardic gift to help insinuate himself into the realm of 'People good for Jkatha.'

"Good day to you, Heralds," said Albayah, "Heralds of Valdemar are always welcome in Jkatha."

"We come seeking aid," said Tyga, "Our Queen has sent us to procure your aid."

"Well, you'll have to wait," said Albayah, "Royal requests aren't accepted until the open address in two days."

"This is of most urgency," said Heath.

"How urgent," asked Merili.

"It's a diplomatic problem with Seejay," sighed Theodren, "And since none of our other allies are on good terms with Seejay, we need your help to fix our little problem."

"And make enemies with Seejay?" asked Albayah, "Are you MAD?"

"Some of us sir, but none of the heralds present," piped Tyga.

"We're not asking for anything military. We just want someone else on our side. A representative of this kingdom. Someone who sees both Valdemar and Seejay's side of the story."

"I don't…" said Albayah.

"Al," said Merili, "Let me handle this matter. I'll make it all happen."

"Fine," said king Albayah, rolling his eyes. Anyone else would be reprimanded, but Merili was a skilled diplomat, and not to mention she was the king's life bonded.  
"So you'll help?" asked Theodren.

"I have someone who might be able to help," said the queen, with a nod, "Now; Erich will see you to your quarters. Be ready to head to Seejay in, oh, two weeks?"  
"Two weeks!" ranted Tyga, "In two weeks, Jemmie could be DEAD."

"I'll send a letter to the queen there," said Merili, "Tell her we're sending her someone."

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you sending?" asked Theodren.

"I do mind you asking," said the Queen, "Now, I have a private audience. And she's more important than you."

_: What a snot: _said Pica, Tyga's companion.

"You and your companions will be well cared for, but I cannot be expected to find you someone in a week. It might be before two weeks. You heralds seem good at being ready to go in an instant," droned Merili.

"Thank you," said Theodren, bowing. Tyga and Heath followed suit, knowing that Theodren was the king of courtly manners. As they stared at the floor, waiting for Theodren to rise, the door to the hall was flung open. As odd tapping sound filled the hall, as did some rather hurried footsteps.

"Ah!" said the king, "Ista. You've arrived. Allow me to introduce you to our guests."

"Oh your majesty," replied the voice the Heralds assumed was Ista, "I did not know you had guests. I should not have been so hasty."

"We told the footman to send you in," said the queen, "Rise, good heralds, and meet one of our finest."

Theodren was the first to rise, and he quickly found himself face to face with a rather delicate looking court flower. Tyga sent a mental image of the girl fainting, and Heath tried not to laugh. They all knew Ista's supposed type. A butterfly-brained court flower. And though the heralds respected them, they were still silly little girls.

"Enchanted to meet you," said Ista, curtseying with grace.

Theodren gave the young woman a look over. Ista was not a tall woman, but she had a statuesque nature to her. She was not thin or willowy, but neither was she huge. She looked like the average commoner done up in elaborate dresses. Her hair was a deep mahogany and shone like polished wood on top of her head. Her eyes were large, round and a deeper brown than her hair, on the verge of being black. She stared off into space, and it appeared like she was trying to look disinterested.

"The pleasure is mine, my lady," said Heath, reaching over to kiss the woman's hand.

"Oh please," said Ista, snatching her hand away, "No need for formalities."

"Anything you wish, my lady," said Heath, making a face at Ista before backing into place again.

"You may leave," said the Queen, "Ista, please come and speak to us."

"Good eve," said Theodren, walking to the door with Tyga and Heath. They walked slowly down the hall to their suite, entered and shut the door.

"Oh god," said Tyga, "Did you see that girl. What a ninny! Such an empty headed wench I've never seen."

"She wouldn't let me kiss her hand," said Heath, "I went through courtly manners for THAT?"

"Both of you quiet," spat Theodren, "I know you're both young and green, but we stand on dangerous ground. There was something about that girl we don't know. Why else would she have a private audience with the king and queen not during the regular time? She's likely not just a ninny."

"Right," snorted Tyga.

"I'm the expert here," replied Theodren, through gritted teeth, "Tyga, you stick to magic, and Heath, stick to courier work. You're both too young to understand."

"We're both full heralds," indignantly answered Tyga.

"Yes," said Theodren, "And you have courtly grace. But we are NOT in Valdemar, or Karse, or any other country where we're understood. Jkatha doesn't know Heralds. They treat us like any other guards and will treat any mistake we make HARSHLY. You know, you could've gotten us kicked out of here with that face, Heath."

"I'm sorry," said Heath, hanging his head.

"Now, tomorrow, we'll restock and prepare. I think for now we'll attend the court audience in an hour or so. Full formal gear. Find out what you can about this Ista," said Theodren.

"Whatever," said Tyga distainfully.

"This was so much easier before mages," said Theodren.

* * *

"And so that's what is going on in the school," said Ista, who was sitting on the stairs leading up to the twin thrones of Jkatha.

"It sounds like you have everything in balance," said Merili, "I'm surprised you've taken on a student."

"I…I have to prove I can be a real trainer," said Ista.

"But all that extra work," said Merili, reaching down and touching Ista's face, "Can you do it? I mean it's a lot of work. More time with her. Less time with the music."

"She is the music," replied Ista, "She's got talent."

"Now," said Albayah, "About your request."

Ista's heart skipped a beat. She had requested to be with the delegation heading to Kata'shin'a'in. She wanted a chance to prove she could actually survive outside of throne city. She had asked on a whim, but hoped that the king and queen found her capable enough. It wasn't a long post, just a few months and then back.

"We don't think we can send you," said Merili, sounding rather dejected, "We're sending Johan."

"But Johan didn't want to go," cried Ista.

"Ista, you're just not the right person. You can't take care of yourself. You'd need too much help," said Albayah, "This is a job for a fully functional bard. You're just not strong enough or able enough. You're our little musical legend. We just want you to be safe."

"All right," said Ista, trying to smile, "Now, why don't we adjourn to the next room and Johan and I will perform."

"Wonderful!" said Albayah, rising to his feet and walking to the door to the court chamber. Merili held back, and knelt down next to Ista. Ista and Merili had been friends since Ista's first day at the Institute, when Ista had run into the Princess. Merili was like a mother to Ista.

"Sweetling," said Merili, "Be patient. I have a job for you. Be strong."

"I will," said Ista, rising to her feet. Merili took Ista by the arm and led her too the door.

* * *

Tyga, Heath and Theodren all looked into the court hall as the pair of Bards set off into the quick movement of their piece.

"I told you she wasn't some court flower," said Theodren.

"So she's a Bard," said Tyga, "Big deal."

"You're right," said Heath, "BIG deal. When you need information in a city, the first place you go is the maids. They know everything. Then you find a bard. And they tell you everything else. That was one of the lessons that Skif drilled into us on information gathering."

"Shush," said Tyga, "Let's just enjoy listening to them sing."

Ista and Johan were finishing the last movement of a song called 'Hey'. It was a dumb title, but it was written by Epjay, the headmaster of the Bardic Institute. Perhaps once he passed, Ista and the others would change the title, but until then it couldn't happen.

The song was long and complex, but beautiful when played well. Johan and Ista enjoyed the song simply because it allowed them to be in their element. It was a modern piece for two guitars, one representing the idealism of society and the other reality. Johan and Ista both used their gifts to project different feelings, giving goose bumps to many of the court. As they neared the end, Ista swallowed hard, and prepared to sing the last few lines, which were sung along with the guitar.

"I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly, I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky," she sung, "make a wish, take a chance, make a change and breakaway. Out of the darkness and into the sun, I won't forget all the ones that I love. I gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change and breakaway."

As her crystal clear voice tapered off, the court erupted in shouts and clapping. Ista rose, and Johan took her hand. Together, they bowed and Johan led her off stage, amid the ruckus. They moved quietly towards the door, not looking back. Although they preformed in the court, they did not belong there. Johan knew that the court saw them only as entertainment, and it was worse for Ista. She was pitiful entertainment. Although no one usually saw it, Johan knew that it hurt Ista when the court tried to be nice to her. They often spoke to her in small, slow words, like she was some sort of halfwit.

As they neared the Heralds, Ista pulled her hand away from Johan and reached for her cane.

"Can't I escort a lady back to her room," said Johan.

"I don't see any ladies," said Ista, her voice dripping with venom, "Just one pitiful blind herald. If you want ladies, go see the king. I mean, you're his favourite bard right now."

"Ista, what's wrong," asked Johan, "One moment, we're playing beautiful music, and the next you're mad at me. Is it moon days?"

"Oh god," said Ista in disgust, "My moon days are none of your business, and they will remain none of your business. You won't have time to worry about them anyways, what with you going to Kata'shin'a'in and all."

"How do you know about that?" asked Johan, "I just found out before the performance."

"I wanted that job," said Ista, "It was a chance to leave Throne city."  
"You can't do it," snapped Johan, "You're not capable enough."

"I write my own music and perform, don't I?"

"Yes, but this is a strange city. You don't deal well with change."

"I deal fine with change," insisted Ista, "You never give me a chance to prove it."

"Do you remember the black eye you got when we changed the layout of your room?"

"One, I was fifteen, and two, you did it without telling me. I couldn't see you'd done it."

"Well how do you expect to survive in Kata'shin'a'in. It's always changing."

"I know it changes. That's the difference. I didn't EXPECT my bed to be on the opposite wall."

"Whatever," said Johan, "You're better off here. There are so many songs that need translation, and there's Rhian."

"You know," said Ista, "Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you at all."

"Because you need me."

"Because I'm a glutton for stupidity," spat Ista in Karsite, before turning around and storming off, her cane still clutched in Johan's hand. She knew Johan didn't understand Karsite, and it was a language such that almost everything sounded angry, unlike the romantic sounded Jkathan language.

"Ista!" called Johan plaintively, "Your cane."

"Screw the cane," called Ista from halfway down the hall.

"Ista," called Johan as he raced after the girl.

"Wow," said Tyga, "That was public."

"No one cares about the bards here," said Theodren, "It's not like Valdemar. Here, it's nice to be a bard, but no noble would send even their youngest bastard son to the institute. Therefore, their business is not looked upon as gossip worthy. As far as the nobles go, that fight didn't just happen."

"She's no halfwit," said Heath, "She's a smart one."

"She's blind," said Theodren, "Didn't you see him offer her the cane. She's not lame, so she must be using it to make sure she doesn't bump into things."

"But she missed hitting three waiters on the way down the hall," said Tyga, "It makes no sense."

"Well then," said Theodren, "I guess I'll have to figure it out tomorrow."


	4. Friends and those other people

Ista's Journey

Chapter Four

Friends and those other people.

Authors Note: Okay. So thus far I've had two pieces of "constructive" criticisms. And both seemed to take offence to the fact I was not rushing through the story and revealing everything in one big bang. So please, if you don't understand something, say so. But you know, it's much nicer to say 'I want to know why the king sounds so immature, please write more' than 'the king sounds like a ten year old.' I'll address your question, but only if you say it nicely. It doesn't feel great that when I try to write a fic with strong characters that have levels, I get 'flaming' constructive criticism. And I turn into the whiney overly sensitive ten year old. But I'm allowed. I'm the author. As long as I don't break Canon, I can do what I want!

Oh. And Theodren was a minor character in 'Exiles Valour'. He was 7 years old and chosen by the companion Cheric. And he WORSHIPED Alberich

**Moondance**: there won't be any Heath and Ista romancing going on in this story. Heath is really not her type. At all. But there will be an Ista romance.

* * *

Ista and Merili walked together in the palace gardens, making small talk about the performance Ista had made two nights before, and other small insignificant things. Ista stayed a step behind Merili, as protocol required, nodding graciously as they left the court garden and entered the palace garden. 

"I do hate that place," said Merili, glancing back at the court gardens.

"I as well," said Ista, as she stopped tapping her cane.

"I am truly sorry about the king," said Merili, "It's hard, you know."

"I understand," replied Ista, walking slowly yet in step with the queen, "I know he's not right."

"He nearly ruined everything with those heralds," whined Merili, turning to her friend for support, "Can you imagine if he sent one of his men into Seejay?"

"Not to be blunt, your majesty," quietly said Ista. "But so did you."

"I know," replied Merili, "But Albayah was just not doing his job."

"How long until Meric is ready to step in?"  
"He's ready now. I'm just trying to get everything in place for Meric to take power," answered Merili, "But I don't want to hurt Albayah."

"Of course not," soothed Ista, "Merili, no one wants to see their lifebonded hurt. But all the ministers know that it's not good for Jkatha. Only Albayah doesn't see it."

"His illness is…unfortunate," whispered Merili, "But I'll never leave him alone. I'll be with him for the rest of his days."

"Of course you will," said Ista, sitting down on a bench.

Merili was like a mother to Ista, though of late she had become more of a sister. King Albayah had become ill; his mind was going, and it was affecting his personality. The king was turning from a distinguished old man into an old man with the mind of a child. His speech was erratic, as were his choices. He was becoming more and more of a stickler for rules and regulations, and wanted more and more power.

Meric, the oldest son of Albayah and Merili, was ready to assume the throne. The only obstacle was that Albayah would not move so easily. Albayah would be said to have stepped down due to a brainstorm, and Meric would assume the throne. No one in the court would say otherwise. Meric would be a great king, and even if he was new, his mother was there to guide him. Things were all set, until the Heralds showed up.

"I need your help Ista," whispered Merili, sitting down on the rough stone bench, next to Ista, "I can't do this alone."

"I know," replied Ista, grabbing onto Ista's hand and giving it a squeeze, "But you must stay strong. You told those Heralds I was more important than them. I'm not."

"What was I supposed to say?" demanded Merili, "Oh, Heralds, please leave because I need to consult the future with my foreseer. You know we don't tell anyone about your abilities."

"They're Heralds!" retorted Ista, "They would understand."

"Sweetling," soothed Merili, "The Heralds are good people. But sometimes they're blinded by goodness. What you and I see as you not wanting to be used, they could see as you being slightly greedy. They're wonderful people, but this is not their land."

"They tend to think they see grey," drawled Ista, repeating something King Albayah had once told her, "when all they really see is black and white."

"Queen Merili!" called a voice from the court gardens.

"Oh goddess," whined the Queen, "Ista, I'll have to talk to you later. I need your help."

"Anything, Majesty," Ista replied eagerly, "Just ask."

"Later," said Merili as she rushed off to attend to the court, "I may have gotten you out of here."

* * *

Ista drifted down the halls of the Bardic Institute. She had some sort of meeting, for what, she did not know. Genyi had summoned her, and Ista went. 

Ista's mind was flowing over what the Queen had said, "I may have gotten you out of here". The idea both thrilled and scared her. Ista wanted to be free, but didn't know if she could do it. She had lived in the palace since she was 9. When she arrived, she was scared. By about 16, Ista was itching to go, but it was never an option. Either the Headmaster or the King found some way to intervene and always sent someone else. The farthest Ista had been in years was the south gate. She had always been told she couldn't do it.

It was one thing for Ista to go around the institute and the palace. She had lived there for years. It was another for her to head outside the city, where the noise negated her heightened sense of hearing, and where things were completely unknown.

Part of Ista wanted to run, while the other wanted to stay safe and cozy in her little room in the institute. If she stayed put, she could write music, and teach, and live the kind of life most people dream of. Food in her belly, nice clothes on her back, maybe even a man in her life someday.

Ista rounded the corner to reach the hall that Genyi mentioned. She began to tap her cane, not only to announced herself, but to hide the fact that she did not need her cane at all.

Ista was very close the both the king and queen of Jkatha. Ikan, the high prince, could never figure it out. He would find out in a few weeks. Ista was a walking, breathing stereotype. A blind foreseer seemed common, but wasn't really. Ista had true, reliable foresight, something that was rarer than almost any other gift. There were many foreseers, but Ista could call on her gift and give actual answers.

Before his illness, Albayah had used Ista and her powers to find out where the bandits were, what disasters were coming, and where to find fugitives. He had a whole stable of 'foreseers' that he attributed his foreknowledge too. No one knew that 90 of the kings predictions came from one little bard.

Priest Pavel, Ista's friend at the temple of the Sunlord, often said that the foresight was a gift from the lord of light. When Ista had her sight taken, the Sunlord did not ignore her pleas for help. While he did not save her sight, he provided her with the means to provide for herself. She lived the pampered life because she could foresee, not just because of her Bardic talent. It was another reason she never left the city. Someone like Ista could be hurt outside the city.

"I hear Ista," said Genyi's voice, echoing from the hall where visitors were taken their lunches, "She's fashionably late, as always."

"I am no late," said Ista, bursting into the room with a flourish, "I am right on time for my appointment. It is MY appointment and I can set the time as I please."

"Yes you can, my lady," said a voice. Ista wracked her brain, but couldn't put a name to the voice.

"And you would be?" asked Ista.

"Oh, Sunlord help me," said Genyi, "Ista, this is Herald Theodren. He requested a meal with you, because he was unsure of a few of the customs of the city."

"I'm told you speak Karsite," said Theodren. Ista listened to Theodren ramble on about him not having great Jkathan, since the two languages were so different. Genyi quitly backed out of the room, leaving the rambling Herald to his talking.

"You know," said Ista, in flawless Valdemarian, "I speak another common language with you."

"Oh," said Theodren, wondering why he was babbling. He felt almost tongue tied in the presence of the young woman. She was no great beauty, but there was something in her face and in her aura that made her striking. Theodren had seen enough court 'beauties' in his long years that he knew this young woman was special.

"You asked for me," said Ista, taking a seat across from Theodren, "Why?"

"It seemed like a good idea," said Theodren, "Rule one of courtly searching. First ask the maids, then the bards. Between the two of them, they know everything."

Ista smiled, "You should try Genyi. I don't know how that girl keeps everything in her head."

"Your Valdemarian is amazing," said Theodren, "I mean, I arrived in Valdemar when I was just 7 and I still sound out of place."

"I lived there for 5 years," said Ista.

"What, in Valdemar?" asked Theodren, "And you're not a Valdemar Bard."

"No," said Ista, "How old are you?"

Theodren was taken aback by the question.

"Genyi seems to not have mentioned how blunt I am," said Ista, "I can't judge you by your face, and your voice doesn't tell me anything."

"38, almost 39," said Theodren.

"You ever know a Bard Brea?" asked Ista.

"Yeah. She was a stuck up bard. She teaches at the collegium. She got her wrist broken by some deranged little kid who didn't want to be a bard," said Theodren.

Ista waved, and half smiled.

"Oh."

"Yeah," said Ista, "The healers sent me here after the whole me breaking Brea's wrist thing. Figured it would be better if I went somewhere new. They only knew Healers and heralds. The bards they knew where highborn and stuck up. And highborns hold grudges."

"Aren't you essentially highborn here?" asked Theodren.

"No," said Ista, "I'm just a damn fine Bard."

"Well then," said Theodren, "Perhaps you can enlighten me on the political situation here."

"There is no situation," said Ista, "It's normal. King, Queen, prince, no meddling Heralds."

"Meddling," said Theodren, "So you think I'm meddling."

"That's what you're doing," said Ista, "Meddling in my business. You're trying to find out what you can't from the maids from me. Likely because everyone else stonewalled you."

"Hey," said Theodren, "I resemble that remark."

"No doubt there," said Ista, getting out of her chair and walking to the door, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going."

"I have a deal for you," said Theodren, "You give me information, and I'll train you in weapons. I DO know that no one else is willing on penalty of the kings displeasure."

Ista turned to face the herald, who got up and walked over to Ista so he was only a foot from her. She wasn't sure what was going on, and wasn't sure if she liked it. He was left hoping she would go for it, because he was out of options.

"I'm not some charity case," said Ista, "Nor am I helpless. Lets make this very clear. I can handle myself. I just have no one to spar against. I have some training. And we will not be doing the 'This is how to strike and run' technique. I know how to do THAT."  
"And let me be very clear," said Theodren, "I won't train you if you make disparaging remarks about Heralds. I don't deal with snot nosed kids."

"I'm no kid," spat Ista, "I'm twenty three years old. I'm a respected Bard and I won't put up with YOU not giving me the respect I deserve. I'm not Kid, or Kitten, or little one, or Sweetling or any other stupid pet name you can think of. I have too many of them."

"Fine," said Theodren, taking a step closer so he was right in Ista's personal space, "But if we train and you get hurt, no whining and bitching about me ruining your career."

"Fine," said Ista, "And now whining if I refuse to answer YOUR questions. And no asking me about my shields, my gifts, or my past."

"Fine," said Theodren.

"Now," said Ista, "I do have people who need me. I have an apprentice who needs my attention. That is, if all you're going to do is badger me for information."

"You have my leave, and my gratitude," said Theodren, reaching down and kissing Ista's hand.

"Speak to Genyi about finding some of my precious free time to run through my swordwork with me. Pardon the pun," said Ista, smiling slightly. Theodren smiled back, and realised that this was a girl who tended not to smile much. But at the same time, he realised she didn't smile for no reason either.

* * *

Johan pounded on Ista's door again, his fist hurting from all the banging. He'd been pleading with her for almost an hour, but she wouldn't say a word to him. She'd let him sulk. 

He was very sorry for the incident after the performance. Three days of Ista not speaking to him had taught him he needed to apologize. He'd come to realise he'd made her feel incompetent.

"Well," thought Johan, "I didn't really figure it out myself."

It had been little Rhian, the young apprentice to Ista who had let Johan in on the secret of how pissed Ista had been.

"Ista said you made her feel like a spit turner," said Rhian, in the middle of rudimentary composition, "Johan, whats a spit turner?"

Johan had realised that he had made Ista feel stupid and half witted. And so there he was, pounding on the door, begging Ista to forgive him.

"Ista," said Johan, "I'm sorry."

"You know," said Ista as she sauntered up from behind him, "The banging on the door begging for forgiveness only works if I'm on the OTHER side of the door."

Johan looked at Ista, his jaw gaping open as she quietly opened her door and beckoned him inside. She was dressed in simple grey clothes and was carrying her guitar. Johan followed her in and took a seat in the plush leather chair that sat near the door. Ista walked into the water closet and shut the half door.

"I am sorry Ista. I realised later how mean I was," said Johan, "You know I respect you."

"You didn't realise anything," answered Ista as Johan listen to her drop her clothes, "Rhian told you what I said."

"Yeah, but I am sorry. I sometimes forget you…that you might want more than you have Ista. And you have a lot. It seems…greedy."

"Greedy? How is me wanting to be like everyone else greedy?"

"Because you have everything. You're on a first-name basis with the king, queen and entire royal family. They can't even remember my name. You had more music published by the time you were 17 than I have now. And yet you want more. You want to go off and play Bard."

"Play Bard? How am I playing Bard? I am a Bard. Theres no playing. I want to be normal, like everyone else. I don't want to be this pariah, stuck in my castle."

"Listen to yourself. My castle. There are starving Bards and you're complaining about your castle."

"I'm a prisoner here," cried Ista, "I can't leave. They won't even let me ride to Mornedealth!"

"It's too dangerous there. Too many factions that would argue over you. And you might just get killed."

"There you go again," shouted Ista, turning off the water in her shower and pulling on her robe.

"What?"

"You're treating me like a child. I am not helpless. I am not mentally incapable of doing circuits. I am blind. That's it. I can't see you, sitting in the chair, but I can hear your breathing, and I can hear the rustling of the leather on your pants. I'm not bad, just different."

"You're right," spat Johan, venomously "You're different. Now deal with it. If you're different, don't try to be like everyone else. You want Genyi to be your servant, and yet you want to take PAYING JOBS from other bards. Either you can or you can't, Ista. Chose."

"Sometimes I hate you," yelled Ista.

"And sometimes you're a spoiled child," shouted Johan, getting up from his chair and storming to the door, "And I wonder why I even bother trying to deal with a stuck up, inconsistent, temperamental, spoiled, bratty bitch!"

"Fine!" shouted Ista as Johan slammed the door. Ista stormed over to her bed and sat down, putting her head between her knees, and sobbing quietly.

* * *

Tyga and Heath followed Theodren into the hall with a sombre dignity. Both wanted to see the blind Bard take a beating, but both knew she had the queen's ear. They needed whatever emissary the queen had planned for them, and they were not about to let a few giggles mess that up. 

Ista was already waiting in the hall, a wooden short-sword in her hand. Her 'keeper', as Tyga dubbed her, was sitting on a bench, looking nervous. Heath walked over and took a seat next to the lovely Genyi, while Tyga leaned back against the wall.

Theodren walked towards Ista, a wooden sword in his hand. He intended to start the lesson with a surprise, as his teacher, Alberich, often did.

"Theodren," snapped Ista, whirling around and holding out her own sword, "No being mean."

"Never," said Theodren, looking just a little more than shocked.

"So. You want to help me get back in shape," said Ista, "It's been a long time since I've done weapons work."

"Indeed," said Theodren, "Why don't YOU begin. You come at me, I'll defend, and we'll go from there."

"That won't work," said Ista, "No point for me to learn real offense."

"You can be offensive," said Theodren.

"Oh, that's such an understatement," giggled Genyi.

"I can be," said Ista, "But it's better if it's more of a 'you leave yourself open' offensive than a 'I'm going to bash your skull right now' offensive."

"All right," said Theodren, "But I think you're underestimating yourself."

"No," said Ista, swinging her sword in a little circle.

"Two coins says Ista gets her ass beat," said Heath to Genyi.

"You're on," said Genyi.

Theodren watched Ista move, and quietly circled her. Ista followed, surprising the older Herald. "You move well," he said as he held his sword out.

"Thank you," said Ista. Theodren, quick as lightning, took the opportunity to make a move forward. Ista froze, the quickly moved out of the way, smacking Theodren on the behind with the flat of her blade as she moved.

"What," said Tyga, watching as again Theodren launched at the bard silently, and again she managed to get out of the way.

"She's special," said Genyi, smiling at Heath.

"Okay," said Ista, "This is where you teach me. I can get out of the way, but I can't attack you back. I don't know how to turn my momentum against you."

"Well, I don't know how you're gaining that momentum," replied Theodren.

"Easy," said Ista, as she brought her blade up to met Theodren's. He pushed her blade away, and for the first time sent Ista sprawling across the weapon rooms floor, her weapon to one side and her body to another. Theodren furrowed his brow as he watched the bard fumble around on the ground, trying to find her sword.

"Lesson one," said Theodren, in a rather convincing impression of his hero Alberich, "Working, we are going to on you NOT losing your sword. You seem to be rather helpless and pathetic when it goes flying. So we're going to learn how to hold onto that sword like your life depends on it."

"It will depend on it," said Ista, "If I ever get out of this city."

"All right," answered Theodren with a note to himself to find out what Ista meant by her comment. Ista found her sword and swung it wildly, groping for something that no one but her understood.

Theodren looked at Ista as she got to her feet. She was soft, like the noble girls of Haven. But unlike those girls, there was something in her nature, a hunger that was more often seen in child. Like the waifs lining the backstreets of Exiles Gate, the children who were told 'You have your food from the temple, now be happy and shut up with what we've been magnanimous enough to give you.' Ista, someone Theodren thought was nothing but a spoiled highborn, reminded him more of those ravenous-looking urchins.

Ista's sword slashed the air again and again. Theodren wondered what she was waiting for. He was making sure he made noise, for he assumed that was what she needed. As he moved, he began to wonder about her, about her secrets.

_:You're intrigued by her, aren't you chosen: _said Cheric, Theodren's companion.

_:Indeed: _admitted Theodren, _:She's beautiful, she's intelligent, she's complex, she's talented. Why wouldn't I be intrigued:_

_:Because you're married, and almost old enough to be her father: _shot Tyga, catching onto the conversation between Cheric and Theodren.

Theodren moved forward to slash at Ista, and something clicked. Ista and Theodren began a furious exchange of blows. Ista matched every one of Theodren's attacks, blow for blow. Heath and Tyga watched, jaws on the tiled floor, as blind Ista matched Herald Theodren's every move. Theodren, trained by the great Herald Alberich, was often called to help with students that Kerowyn and Jeri both felt needed one on one work. And yet here was a blind girl, keeping up with him.

Breathlessly, Ista was finally sent staggering back, not by her mistakes, but by her lack of muscles. Theodren watched as Ista gasped for breath, her arms limply at her sides.

"What is going on?" asked Heath.

"You haven't seen anything," said Genyi. Genyi pulled an apple out of her bag, hefted it for weight, then chucked it, as hard as she could, right as Ista's head.

Tyga, Heath and Theodren all watched as time seemed to slow down. Ista looked up, like she heard a sound. Her eyes seemed to flash blue, like a companions, and only for a fraction of time itself. She took her sword, and with deft precision she slammed it against the apple, sending it flying.

And then Ista's world went black.


	5. Oh the headaches

Ista's Journey

Chapter Five

Oh, the Headaches

Authors Note: Ahem sorry for my little outburst last chapter. I was frustrated with all the Mary-Sue stories getting great reviews. Here's Ista chapter 5 for your reading pleasure.

Tsukinoko1: That comment about flames was NOT for you. Your review was perfect. But thanks for reminding me I was being a silly wench and being a little...stupid for lack of a better word.

Miss. McCrory: Thank you for your kind words!

And now, onto the show

* * *

Genyi bolted forward, as if she was the one with the foresight, not Ista. She tried to catch the Bard, but wasn't fast enough. Ista slumped into a pile on the floor, her sword clattering to the ground. Theodren ran to kneel beside her, pulling off his helmet as he did. 

"Ista!" cried Genyi, rolling Ista over, allowing her to breathe.

"What happened?" demanded Theodren as Tyga and Heath joined him on the floor.

"I don't know!" wailed Genyi, on the verge of tears, "This has never happened before. Not when I've been with her. Is she dead?"

"She's not dead, you scatterbrained thick-wit," barked Tyga, yanking Genyi away from Ista's unconscious form. "Look. She's not having any trouble breathing, nor is she seizing. She's just not conscious."

"But that's not normal," half-sobbed Genyi, "She's not supposed to fall down and not move. She's not okay."

"Come on, Sweetling," soothed Heath, pulling Genyi to him, "Theodren and Tyga can handle this. Let's go calm down, and then we'll check back on her. We're doing her no good standing here in the way of people who know how to deal with this."

"Ok," Genyi hiccupped, allowing Heath to put his arm around her shoulders and slowly steer her out of the training hall.

"Any ideas?" queried Tyga, once Heath had the hysterical minstrel out of earshot.

"Brainstorm," answered Theodren with a serious glance, "It's all I can think of that would cause this kind of reaction so suddenly."

"Damn," sighed Tyga, reaching out to check Ista's pulse, "It's completely normal. This is odd."

"Let's find a Healer," grunted Theodren, getting to his feet with Ista in his arms. "Let's find someone who knows what they're doing."

* * *

"What do you mean you don't truly understand what's wrong with her," roared King Albayah. "It's your fault. You were the last one to be seen with her." 

"Your majesty, she and I were sparring. I did not hit her in the head; I did not do anything to her that would knock her out for this LONG," answered Theodren, his voice rising with every syllable.

"Your little diplomatic entry is no longer being considered!" shouted Albayah, "You destroyed my Ista. She's mine, you know. No one but me can have her and her gifts. But you've broken her. And now she may never be of use again. I ought to have you executed."  
"Albie!" spat the Queen as she walked into the room outside the royal Healers' hall, "Albie, you get back to the throne room. There are six petitioners awaiting you!"

"Merili!" ranted the king, sounding like an average ten year old, "I am dealing with these stupid Heralds."

"Albayah," stated Merili, "Go. Now. Please, don't make them wait any more."

"Fine," grunted the king, storming off.

"I apologize for him," lamented Merili, turning to where Theodren, Tyga, Heath and Genyi were waiting on word from the Healers. "He's not right, in case you hadn't noticed. He… he won't be in charge for much longer."

"It's all right, highness," answered Heath, "We're used to dealing with hot-heads."

"How is she?" asked the Queen, "Any new word?"

"No," moaned Genyi, "She's still out of reach."  
"And they can't do anything for her?" retorted the queen, wringing her hands, "It's been five days. I need her."

"You need her?" repeated Theodren, trying desperately to get more information out of the queen.

"Yes. She's the one I'm sending to Seejay with you. With her status as a Bard, she'll get the respect needed to actually deal with the government there. She'll probably end up doing some sort of concert, to placate the council of Barons, but that's nothing she can't do. She can try to get your Herald out of trouble."

"Is she capable of that?" remarked Tyga. "All I've seen her ever do is whine, argue and fall down helplessly. We're not going to drag her to Seejay if all she does is whine."

"Tyga," snapped Theodren.

"It's okay," replied Merili, putting her hand on Theodren's shoulder, "She doesn't understand Ista. Ista is far more capable than anyone realises, including herself."

"She's blind," snarled Tyga, fed up with people treating the girl like she was some sort of god-sent avatar. "She's whiney and she can't fend for herself."

"She's a fully capable Bard," snapped Genyi, annoyed at Tyga's constant criticisms, "She has strong mind gifts. She can read music just by holding it. She's got more personality than anyone I know, and she's just a wonderful person."

"And that's not even mentioning the fact that she has foresight," added Merili, with a smile. "She's capable of more than even she knows."

"Foresight is not that great a gift," muttered Tyga, crossing her arms and leaning on the wall.

"I know," replied Ista's voice from inside the room, "Now, all of you, please be quiet."

"Ista!" shrieked Genyi. "Ista, you're awake."

"Indeed," confirmed Ista, "Been awake for a few hours. I'm going to be fine. I just strained myself. I have a devil of a headache. Now, please be quiet."

"You heard her," chirped Genyi, her smile returning in full force, "All of you OUT. She wants quiet, she'll get quiet."

* * *

Ista sat in her room, her curtains pulled tightly. Heat, sound, almost everything had made her head hurt more. It had taken a few hours to convince the Healers she would be much more comfortable in her own room, where everything was familiar, and nothing was smelling strongly of potions. 

Johan had quietly walked Ista back to her room, only because the Healers didn't trust her to walk by herself, or with little tiny Genyi. Johan left Ista alone in her room, and Ista was fully enjoying it.

Dressed in the soft silky robe that the diplomat from Brendan had given her the last time she was here, Ista padded around her room, and just relaxed. It was a nice change for Ista to not have to worry about anyone but herself and her needs for a change.

Ista's mind was stuck on one subject. And that subject was Theodren, the older of the Heralds. He confused Ista. She was not one to fixate on people, but Theodren made her think. He was kind, and sweet, and did not seem to have a hidden agenda, or need her for anything. It was a different dynamic for Ista, one that was new and strange.

Theodren had a very sexy voice, that was the one thing Ista was sure of. She tried to not think about him, but then just ended up ruminating on Johan, which wasn't much better. Theodren, though much older, at least respected her. Johan was just an ass when it came to Ista doing anything independent. And to Johan, 'independent' only meant 'without Johan.'

Ista shook her head, as if shaking her hair would force her thoughts of Theodren to fall out of her head and leave her alone. Ista did not want a man, she did not need a man, and she certainly could not afford a man who was the diplomatic attaché for the kingdom of Valdemar.

'I can't really afford any men,' thought Ista, 'Never have.'

Genyi was off for the evening, having accepted a dinner invitation from Herald Heath. Ista trusted Heath, not because she knew him, or even really liked him. In fact, she thought he seemed rather pompous. But Ista knew he was a Herald and would not try anything he shouldn't with the fourteen-year-old. Heralds were smarter than THAT.

'Bergen was smart,' thought Ista. 'Although sometimes I wish I'd never met him. He was perfect.'

Bergen was a topic Ista often ruminated on. She had only known him for three months, but he taught her everything. Bergen taught Ista how to defend herself, though not that well, but it was enough. He showed her that people actually care about others and don't need anything. He taught her the basics of shielding, which helped her when her gift decided to actually show up.

Ista had been twelve years old when the gift had 'come upon' her. Most would feel blessed by such a talent, but for Ista it was nothing but trouble. She often referred to her gift as 'that stupid little bitch', as if it was a person whispering in her ear, telling her what to do. When it first presented itself, Ista was left confused and felt like she was drowning. Everyone tried to give her advice, and all Ista wanted was to be left alone.

Ista managed to get it under control after three months of hellish visions of people dying. Ista used the principals that Bergen taught her long ago, the ones to control her touch reading. And somehow she managed to get herself under control.

And then came the bombardment from the King and court. They all wanted information, and Ista was only too pleased to help them. The questions were unending. What are my enemies planning? What are my allies planning? What is the future of this territory? How about that one? Should I plant corn or beans? Cows or sheep?

By the time Ista was fourteen, she was burned out. When she wasn't foreseeing, she was asleep or actually unconscious. All that foreseeing hurt Ista deeply, but she bore it, thinking she was helping everyone. Until the day she got something wrong.

Ista was not truly wrongit was the noble that was wrong. He asked her if he should plant wheat or corn. Ista told him he shouldn't plant either, but didn't say why. She was too tired to care. The noble took 'neither' to mean 'either', and when a flash flood hit, he stormed into the court gardens and beat Ista within an inch of her life, then tried to rape her. Ista nearly died, and not one of the nobles who heard her tortured screams came to her aid. It was Prince Ikan, the second son of Albayah and Merili who saved her life, rescuing the lifeless Ista along with some help from Johan.

It had taken Ista six months to recover from the ordeal. It scarred Ista, both mentally and physically. From then on, Ista saved her gift for herself and the king, who respected her gift and took what she said seriously. Ista was never quite as graceful as she had been, the result of broken bones and torn muscles.

And then there were the internal scars. Ista was once a happy child, eager to please and a joy to be around. She was excited to go out into the world, to be a real Bard. No one told her it wouldn't happen. The attack left Ista with doubts about the nature of people. She stopped being so nice and turned into a withdrawn and angry person. There were a select few who pierced the icy layers and found Ista to be not an angry, sarcastic woman, but more of a scared child.

It had taken Ista seven years to recover enough from the attack to want to leave the palace, but by then the King had decided it was too dangerous to lose his foreseer. And Ista, two weeks before her reaction-headache fainting spell, realised that she never would. Meric, the soon-to-be king, was still just a boy. He would need her, would need her reassurances that what he did would be okay. He would allow her to go, but he was a safety blanket. And Ista knew all about safety blankets.

A gentle knock at the door told Ista that her dinner had arrived. When Ista had retired to her room, Prince Ikan had visited her and asked what she wanted for dinner. Ista's bristly exterior never fooled the palace servants, and Ista let it go. The servants knew she was demanding to a point, but not a fault like the nobles. Ista TOLD you what she wanted, to the letter, and it was never something too hard. Ikan had told her the whole kitchen staff was waiting on her order, and would fix her whatever she wanted.

Rabbit dumplings, she had ordered, with a fresh garden greens salad, and a bubbly pie for dessert. As well, she had asked for two pomegranates and two carafes of tea to aid in her orders to drink the headache potions the Healers gave her. When Ista ordered it, she knew it would please the kitchen to no end. Making some nobles favourite's food was nothing, but Ista was known to give servants gold pieces for just being on time and giving her what she wanted. Making food for her was like making it for a favoured distant relative, one with money and good humour.

As the servant entered the room, Ista pulled her robe tighter. The footsteps were heavy, obviously a males. The breathing pattern was unfamiliar, and yet not alarming, telling Ista it was not someone to harm her. The "bitch" would inform her if someone was bad, and no alarm bells were sounding in her head.

"Heyla," crooned the soft voice.

"Good evening, Theodren," Ista answered, putting a voice to the name. Ista could only imagine the price Theodren must have paid to deliver this meal. With people like Ista, Prince Ikan, or Merili, the kitchen's staff was fanatical about making sure the meal was to the person's liking. Theodren must have offered something they could not get otherwise.

"I've brought your meal," he said earnestly, "And my company, if you'll have me."

"I'm feeling better," Ista drawled, "And I would like the company. I believe your Heath is wining and dining my Genyi. So I'm all alone this evening."

"Well then," replied Theodren, "I'll stay as long as you want."

"Rabbit dumplings?" asked Ista, walking over to the small table in the corner of the room and sitting down.

"Indeed. With a fresh greens salad. I watched them take it from the royal gardens myself." Theodren set the plate down in front of Ista, the placed his own right next to hers before taking a seat.

"You spent all day in there." Ista dug into her food, spearing a rabbit dumpling onto her fork with great vigor. "I know you must have. The staff doesn't like giving up duties they like, and I'm one of them."

"Really? Some of your students told me you're the battle-axe to end all battle-axes. Did you really whip that one boy?"  
"Yes. He had it coming. But oh, wait." Ista took another dumpling and almost swallowed it whole, "You mean whip whipped? No. I took him to the training room and we had ourselves a little fight. Did anyone tell you he was fifteen and I was eighteen? And a small eighteen? He had every advantage except a brain. Which is why he's now working as a spit turner."

"He was that dumb?"

"No. Not at the time. He later on picked a fight with the wrong person and ended up getting his brain addled by some bully boy."

"Sounds like the average highborn from Valdemar. They often have grandiose ideas of who they are in the grand scheme of things. And they're not as important as they think."

"It's the same here."  
"Want to hear a story?"

"Certainly."

* * *

"So then Johan had to run from the room, yellow dye all over his white pants. And because he'd slighted the help, he had to run from one end of the palace to the other looking like he'd wet himself!" 

"Oh lord," laughed Theodren. Hours had passed, and still Ista and Theodren sat together in the darkened room. Ista didn't realise there was no light left, and Theodren did not want to move from his seat.

"I know. Johan was mortified. He never wanted to be seen in public again."

"Who is he to you anyways," Theodren asked, trying to sound dispassionate.

"Johan is one of my oldest friends. We've been friends almost since I arrived here. We fight and bicker, but it's always worked out in the end."

"Just wondering. Your students seem to think you're bedding."

"No," barked Ista, suddenly realising she sounded desperate with the last phrase.

"Can I ask you something."

"Sure."

"How did you do that."

"Do what?"  
"With the sword. I'm a quiet fighter. I doubt your hearing is that acute."

"Foresight," answered Ista. "The most obvious answer."

"Foresight doesn't work like that," snapped Theodren. "It's never precise."

"And white horses never talk," snarled Ista, slightly upset at the implication that she was being less than true, "Foresight has never worked like that for you, or anyone in your history. But you should know that strong gifts do occur. Look at Lavan Firestorm, or Vanyel, or even the current Herald Kyril. Strong gifts, all of them. Unusually strong."

"I'm sorry," stuttered Theodren, realising that he'd just insulted the woman he'd spent all evening enthralled by. He was on the verge of kicking himself. He sounded no better than a tactless noble brat. And for some reason he didn't understand, this upset him more than it should.

"It's okay," Ista answered, "I don't talk about my gifts much. But Merili said I'll be going with you, so I assume you'll have to know, if not the other two."

"You can really see things? Like clearly and not randomly?"  
"It's reliable. I know that in a few moments, you're going to turn on a light. And not just any one, but the one on the bedside table, because you don't want it to be too bright."

"That sounds like deductive reasoning."

"I can also tell you that Genyi is going to spill her dinner all over Heath. Ask him when you get back."

"You just know this?"

"Sometimes. Other times I have to focus. Like during the fight. And then there are the times I don't want to know, and I fight to not know."

"What would you not want to know?"

"A lot. I…" she hesitated. "I like my life. I wouldn't want to know every little detail before it happens. I like that I can help prevent disasters, but some of them are unavoidable."

"You can't change it, only see it."

"And I think that my gift is part of the destiny of the world. I'm not changing anything by speaking. What I know, I'm meant to know. A few weeks ago, a Bard died. He was old. And I knew his time was ending. I made sure everyone said their goodbyes, and everyone had closure. And it made all the difference in the world."

"You're really nothing like the students describe you, you know."

"I'm aware." She answered, dismissing the comment with a flick of her hand. "Most of the students are highborn. I don't like the highborns here. As far as I'm concerned, they can all go back to Mornedelth and stay there."

"You and me, we're common stock. Common Karsite mutts."

"Speak for yourself," Ista giggled, "I'm practically a noble here. And when Meric takes the throne, I will be."

"They're going to ennoble you?"  
"They have to. Merili wants me on the council of the King. And no commoners allowed."

"Sounds like fun?"

"I would give my life for this country. Jkatha has given me everything."

"You lived in Valdemar, didn't you?  
"For almost five years."

"I'm truly surprised that the Bardic Collegium didn't snap you right up."

"They sent someone for me," Ista half-whispered, "But I didn't want to go. I really didn't want to go. So I broke her wrist."

"Why were you so mad?" asked Theodren.

"I just…was," sputtered Ista. She felt like a bolt had just struck her in the head. She realised now that she had just been sharing with this man for hours. She'd answered what he'd asked, like he was an old friend. And then she realised he was likely just doing it for information.

"Are you okay?"  
"The headache," Ista lied. "The headache is back."

"You want some tea?"

"No. I just need to be quiet."

"Do you want me to sta…" Theodren stopped, realising that Ista was lying to him. Something had made her close up, and him asking to stay would only make matters worse. He got up, and stared at her for a moment, but a moment that felt like eternity.

She was twenty-three, that much he knew. It felt almost wrong for him, a man of thirty-eight, to feel anything but paternal feelings for this girl. But his feelings were not paternal, and Theodren felt no guilt.

Theodren reached out his hand, watching it tremble, and pushed Ista's hair out of her face. She looked up at him, and for an instant, he swore she could actually see him. Her eyes, a deep brown, almost black colour, stared right at him. He knew she couldn't actually see him, but her gaze almost took his breath away. It was a gaze full of beauty, as if true beauty was not in the eye of the beholder, but within the unseeing eyes of a Jkathan Bard.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Ista said quietly, never moving her gaze from Theodren.

"Yeah," he stuttered as he managed to pull himself away from the Bard and move towards the door. "Goodnight, my lady."

"Good night," Ista answered softly as Theodren shut the door. Ista walked over to her bed and pulled back the covers. She slipped into the soft sheets, and then let her robe fall to the floor. She reached over to the bedside table and took the sleeping potion the Healers left. She didn't want to think, because it would only make her think of Theodren. And Ista had no time for men.

"Or at least," Ista thought as she downed the potion and slipped into sweet oblivion, "I keep telling myself I have no time."

* * *

Theodren dragged himself back to his suite, arguing with himself. Ista was a problem. Never have feelings for anyone in an important diplomatic situation, which was what Kyril had taught him, they're more dangerous than snakes. Those who hold your heart can ultimately stop it from beating. 

And then there was the situation with Arielle, his wife of almost twenty-one years. She was a priestess of the Lord of the Light. They had met when he was sixteen, and she fourteen. They swore they were life-bonded. They had been madly in love.

And when, at sixteen, Arielle had become pregnant, Theodren had done the only thing he could. He married her. They had a daughter, named Luella, and then three sons, Olivet, Timor and Heath. It seemed, on the outside, to be perfect.

What no one else knew, outside the Heraldic circle, was how miserable Arielle made Theodren. It was wonderful when they were just children themselves, but raising four children had taken its toll on the marriage. Theodren had wanted to dissolve the union for years, but Arielle was intent on keeping up the façade. She wanted to seem like she had the marriage that everyone could look up to. No one else knew that Theodren hadn't touched his wife in years and that Arielle threw things at him and screamed.

It had been bad judgment on Theodren's part, marrying Arielle. But Theodren was not known for his good judgment in social situations, even with his companion. Theodren tended to assume his companion didn't understand the dynamics of human social lives. Put a map in front of him, and Theodren could give you all sorts of sound strategic advice, but put him in front of a pretty girl, and things went south.

Everyone in Haven knew about his marriage to Arielle, who was now the high priestess of the Lord of the Light's temple in Haven. It made it impossible for Theodren to seek extra company. But he wasn't in Haven anymore. He was in a strange land, and there was an exotic woman upstairs who made him feel alive for the first time in years.

Theodren paused for a moment to adjust his uniform before entering the suite that he shared with Heath and Tyga. Tyga had one room and Theodren the second room with Heath. He opened the door and walked in, trying to look as unruffled as he could.

"Where have you been?" demanded Heath, mockingly. Heath, the youngest son of Theodren and Arielle, was a dapper young man. He had just got his Whites and finished his internship when Queen Selenay sent him with his father on this mission. His optimism was still intact, unlike Tyga.

"That was a long dinner," drawled Tyga. Tyga was a rather jaded Herald. She came from the dredges of society, from the poorest of the poor. She seemed to have a permanent chip on her shoulder when dealing with 'the upper crust'. Theodren had never told her about his life in the Tedrel camps, but could understand why she was so cold. Anyone forced into a situation where there was no hope, and was then allowed to see the opulence that others live in was bound to become cold.

"I was talking with our Bard," answered Theodren, "Found out a lot. She's not as she appears."

"Really? How different?"

"She's a foreseer. A strong one. She's going to be dead useful to us."

"If she goes," said Heath.

"If?" demanded Theodren.

"Yeah," replied Heath, "We got assigned our person. Some noble named Eryth. The king said that he doesn't want to allow Ista to leave the city. He said that she's too important. Genyi told me that the King will never allow Ista to leave. She's a prisoner here. I made a joke about it. That's when she got up and dumped her dinner all over me" Heath pointed to the uniform hanging on the wall, drying.

"We need her," scoffed Theodren, "I don't think anyone else could do it."

_:Do you need her: _asked Cheric, Theodren's companion. _:Or do you WANT her, chosen:_

"Take it up with the King," snapped Tyga.

"Oh. I will," growled Theodren.


	6. Uncommon Commoners

Ista's Journey

Chapter 6

Uncommon Commoners

Authors Note: That song is property of Mercedes Lackey. It's from one of her books. I sadly did not write it.

This chapter has been hard to write. Thanks to Moof for helping me get it going and get it finished. I know I just keep throwing things at you readers, but you can blame my brain for that. It likes loops. But I will bring closure to this. Don't you worry.

Tskinono: You know, I really look forward to your reviews. You are picky, but not overly picky. I like it.

Kathleen: Had to e-mail you. You're so nice!

* * *

Ista awoke in the morning by herself, the warmth of the sun like a sweet kiss on her cheek. Genyi was still asleep, for she came in late in the evening, or early in the morning, it depended on which you chose to think. Ista stretched herself out in the large bed, and then silently draped her feet over the side.

She walked over to her bathing chamber and found her clothes laid out for her on top of the privy. When Genyi had come in, Ista had managed to mumble that Genyi needed to leave her clothes out for the morning. Genyi left out some lovely clothes, a pair of shortened linen trousers, a soft silk shirt and a heavy cloak for over top. Ista thanked Genyi in her head, then washed her face, dressed and left the room, grabbing a cane on the way out, and shutting the door ever so quietly so as not to wake the sleeping Minstrel.

Ista walked out through the kitchen doors and greeted her friends who were busily preparing for the evening. It was a feast day in the palace. All three of the Princes would be at the palace tonight, and that was reason enough for a full court dinner. It was rare that Meric, who lived in Mornedelth, Ikan, who lived in Kata'shin'a'in, and Colby, who resided in the small town of Rowatan, were all in the city at once. Albayah had called for a great party to celebrate his sons. What he didn't know was that they were in the city to pull their father off the throne.

As Ista stepped out into the heart of Throne City, her senses were assaulted by all the city had to offer. The sun warmed everything around Ista, and she lifted her face to allow the rays to dance across her face. The smells of animals mixed with that of fresh baked bread, making a scent that was rather unpleasant to an outsider, but to Ista it was home. People flocked to sell their wares, offering Ista everything she could imagine, at low prices. Though it was a day of rest and feasting for the palace, it was business as usual for everyone else.

Ista moved through the streets, her cane tapping lightly. Her head was still aching from the overload, and so using foresight would only make her head hurt. It was better for her to just allow people to move for the blind girl.

"Hey Ista!" Ista turned to the voice. "It's Leila the bookkeeper. One of the Shin'a'in men was over here looking for you. They know you walk the roads on feast days, so they wondered if I'd seen you."

"They looking for me for a reason?" Ista asked.

"Yeah. Wanted to talk to you about something or another. I don't know what."

"Thanks. Hey Leila, when is your sons wedding again?"

"Two moons from now. At the Temple of Kernos."

"I'll make sure you get some entertainment. I'll try to be there, but you know what my schedule is like. If not me, then Genyi or Johan."  
"You don't have to."

"Course I don't. That's why I'm doing it."

"Getting tired of the butterfly-brained nobles?"

"You have NO idea!" Ista grinned wide as she set off down the road again. Ista smiled as she walked. The streets of Throne City were one place she could be herself. She was known in the streets, but only because of her tendency to play on the steps of the Temple of the Lord of the Light. She wasn't famous anymore or so she felt for a few hours.

Ista reached her first stop without any trouble. The Temple of the Lord of the Light was not far from the palace, and the path was so familiar to Ista it was like second nature. She ascended the steps, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her dark hair, then entered the Temple, still grinning.

"Heyla Ista!" shouted a voice. Ista thought for a moment, then realised it must be acolyte Fridley, one of the barely-teenaged priests in training at the Temple.

"What a wonderful day the Sunlord has given us." Ista reached into her cloak and pulled out a small gold pouch. "And I give thanks to the Sunlord, and give him my tithing, for all things that come from the sun must be given thanks for."

"The Sunlord is all mighty, and may his grace fall upon you," answered Fridley, taking the hefty bag.

"May I suggest you warn the family living in the house next door to check their roof? It seems to be leaking. Or so I think."

"Indeed, my lady." Fridley was almost quivering with excitement. Ista was known to give money and other good things to the acolytes. Not that Fridley was materialistic, but it was always nice to receive something.

"Oh. And here." Ista handed Fridley another heavy pouch. Inside the small, yet heavy bag sat many tiny sweet fruit drops. "To share with the others. Sunlord keep you."

"My lady," Fridley stammered. Fruit drops were expensive. They were not easily made.

"Money is something I have in abundance. And candy is something you children don't have nearly enough of. You serve the people of Vkandis. But who serves you?"

"Thanks to you!"

"Just keep me in your prayers," Ista answered with a wave. She loved her Temple, but the priests there were almost as bad as some of the lesser nobles. They tended to fawn. Ista did not like being fawned over, as if she was some sort of goddess. She preferred a healthy respect, and maybe a little bit of hero worship. That was why she tended to stay with the acolytes. They fawned over her because she brought them sweets.

"Sunlord's representative is a Sunlord's representative," Ista thought as she left the Temple. Although some people liked to talk to the priests, Ista preferred to pray on her own, and attend the crowded services. No one noticed her in a crowded service.

Ista sat down on the steps to the Temple, enjoying the sunlight. Ista didn't know why, but she was genuinely happy. It wasn't often she didn't have to force a smile, but just allow the one waiting beneath the surface to come up for air. Ista listened to the sounds whirling around her. The children running around in front of the Temple, the women gossiping, the dogs yipping, the men laughing, it all blurred together into a symphony of sound, one Ista wished she could write down. Such sounds warmed the heart, or so Ista thought.

"Please, miss," asked a small girly voice, "are you playing today? I like listening to you sing."

Ista turned to hear the voice better, her hand outstretched. The girl put her cheek in Ista's hand and allowed Ista to run her fingers along her face. Ista was surprised. Most people didn't realise that touching their face allowed her to get an idea what they looked like.

"I… like your singing, Miss," the girl stammered, "I watch for you every week. My ma and pa own the bakery across the lane. I love hearing you sing. You're so good."

"What's your name?" asked Ista, touched, for some reason, by the little girl.

"Dorcas."

"Dorcas, can you go get me a hat of some sort? Or a wooden bowl?"

"Yes ma'am!" the girl got up and ran across the way to her shop to fetch something for the Bard. Ista smiled again, and then turned to the door of the Temple.

"Fridley! Can you fetch me the guitar I keep here? I need it."

"Miss!" shouted Dorcas, her little feet hurrying her across the way, her tiny hand waving some sort of floppy, flapping hat.

"Thanks," Ista said, setting the hat down on the ground in front of her and reaching out her hand instinctively for Fridley to hand her the guitar she kept in the Temple. She often played on the steps of the Temple, and long ago realised that keeping a guitar in the Temple was better than lugging one around.

Ista tuned the strings of the guitar, testing each of them for signs of wear and tear. She strummed a few simple chords, and then motioned for Dorcas to take a seat beside her. The girl eased herself down, and then Ista began to strum the guitar a little more musically.

"Do you know any of the Sunlord hymns?" Ista ran up and down a scale with a flourish. "Any of the ones they sing."

"I know the new one, about Solaris."

"I don't know that one. How about the Hawk and the Hunter."

"No," stammered Dorcas, her words betraying she was on the verge of tears.

"It's okay," Ista soothed, "I was just trying to find a song to sing with you. If you recognize anything, sing with me, okay?"

"Y-yes."

Ista plucked the strings in a pattern, then stopped and drummed on the side of the guitar for a few bars, then broke into a complicated series of chords while clearing her throat.

_The firebird knows your anger_

_And the firebird feels your fear_

_For your passions will attract her_

_And your feelings draw her near._

_But the negative emotions_

_Only make her flame and fly_

_You must rule your heart, magician_

_Or by her bright wings you die._

Ista sang out to the gathering crowd, drawing them to her. They tossed coins in her hat when they could afford it, or just gazed at her if they couldn't. As the sun rose higher in the sky, Ista finished her first song, and moved onto her second, a spirited piece called 'Swordlady'. The crowd clapped along as Ista played through the piece, singing along with the choruses and enjoying the show.

Some of the priests slowly gathered at the temple doors to watch Ista play. The ones who weren't performing the daily rituals tapped their feet, and complained about the temperature. The ones who were performing the daily rituals wished they could tap their feet, and also complained about the heat. Ista giggled as she ran through the chorus and listened to the priests. It was always amusing for Ista to hear the high and mighty priests complaining about the weather, like Vkandis should have mercy on them because they were men and women of the cloth. And by 'the cloth', Ista meant 'big heavy sweltering robes.'

Ista finished her third song, one from Valdemar, and took a deep bow. People clapped for her, and Ista just grinned. She reached for her hat, and took out the coins. Mostly copper, some silver, and a few gold, or so Ista guessed by the size. She took out the gold coins, and then handed the hat to Dorcas.

"You take that to your mom," said Ista, "Tell her it's for your schooling. You're a nice girl. You should be able to go to school, not work."

"But I can't take this!" Dorcas squeaked, "You worked for this!"

"I don't need it," scoffed Ista.

"But my ma told me not to take money from other people."

"I play for the joy of music. I'll give the gold coins I took to the temple, keep two for the rest of my expenses at market, and I'm set for the next little while. The palace pays for almost everything I need. And I just don't need more money. But you do, little one."

"But I can't take this!"

"Yes you can. It's a gift, for you." Ista got up. "And you'll make me angry if you do it any different." Ista tried to make herself look big and imposing. "You don't want to make me angry, do you?"

"No," Dorcas stuttered, and then ran back to her house, clutching the bag.

"What are you doing now, Bard?" asked a voice.

"I'm giving to the poor," Ista answered, getting to her feet and crossing her arms, not bothering to even look in the direction of the voice.

"You're not giving to _the_ poor. You're giving to _that_ poor."

"You know what I am."

"I do."

"Well then, you know I can see when bad things happen."

"All too well."

"That girl is going to be an orphan within a year. I knew when I touched her face. The money can go a long way."

"Want to come get some lunch with me? I've got a table at the Trader's Haven."

"Certainly."

* * *

Theodren yawned as he listened to the King, the king's son Colby and a Jkathan noble named Eryth discuss how they were going to handle the diplomatic situation in Seejay. Theodren was tired, mostly from tossing and turning all night. Tyga was off in the palace, for Theodren knew her temper would get the better of her, and Heath was seated on Theodren's left, trying to look interested.

"And you will _not_ sully the name of Jkatha," the king admonished. "We have appearances to uphold."

"I have appearances to uphold, majesty," Eryth sniveled with an exaggerated nod of his balding head. Theodren did not like the man. He was rather mousy-looking and was lapping up all the idiocy that the king was spewing like it was the nectar of the gods. _Yes sir_, _no sir_, _anything sir_, was all the man seemed to say.

"Your highness," Heath interrupted, "May I say something?"

"Of course," the king said, darting him a look of annoyance.  
"Did the Queen not say she would handle this matter?" Heath asked, knowing full well he was dancing on thin ground.

"She did," whined Eryth, "But she is just a woman. What does she know."

"A lot," barked Albayah, "She is my wife and you will not speak ill of her Eryth."

"Yes sir, anything sir, I'm sorry sir," cowered Eryth, who seemed to Theodren to rather resemble a cowering puppy. An ugly, inbred cowering puppy.

"The Queen spoke to Herald Theodren and said that Bard Ista would be going with us. We've made our plans on the basis that Bard Ista would be joining us. I know it's an imposition, but the Queen gave us her word that Ista would come." Heath was bluffing and Theodren knew it. The queen had not given her word. And there were no plans. "This is a sensitive mission, and an important one. I think that the Queen realized that Ista gives us an advantage. No appearances. Ista can rule in our favour, then return here and be punished for it. How do you punish a Bard? Keep her in the Palace and don't allow her to do a circuit. No one has to know she doesn't do that anyways."

"She's too important. And she's mine," the King snapped, "I know you're trying to get her, but you can't have her. She's mine and I need her all the time."

"Father," interjected Prince Colby, "These men need Ista. They're Heralds. I've dealt with Heralds. They're good people. They're not going to take Ista unless she needs saving. And she doesn't need saving from you."

"Quiet, Colby."

"No, Father, I will not be silent. They are off to save a man's life. And this man over here will not help them. He's not what they need. Ista can go where others cannot. She will be trusted, where this can will not. And she can be respected, where this man should not."

"I object!" Eryth rose to his full height in an attempt to intimidate Colby. Colby got up from his chair and stood face to face with Eryth, though it was more Erythe face to Colby's neck. Colby was a priest for the god Kristo, a warrior god who required all his followers to be able to fight. And Colby looked the part.  
"You sit down," Colby growled. Eryth, wisely, sat down. "Father, Meric and I agree you should send Ista. As does mother. You're being paranoid."

"No!" the king looked like a child who was having his favourite toy removed for his disobedience.

"Father, I am going to take these two gentlemen to lunch, and then we will continue this debate with Mother and Meric present," Colby stated, moving from his chair to the door. The two heralds bowed to the king, then followed Prince Colby, unable to understand what had just happened.

"Thank you, Prince Colby," Heath stuttered as he and Theodren followed Colby.

"Please," Colby entreated, "It's just Colby. I'm not technically a Prince. I gave up my right to the throne in favour of my younger brother Meric."

"But they call him the oldest son, or first son." Heath caught up to Colby and matched his pace, eager to learn what the Prince had to say. "And you're older?"

"There are five of us who are older than Meric. Myself, and my twin sister Crystalline who abdicated so she could marry her husband, who's as common as dirt. Then there's our slightly younger sister Marilee, who is technically joined to one of the maids and therefore unable to rule. There's Oleg, who my parents forced to completely abdicate because of his sadistic tendencies. He was sent off to a temple in the middle of nowhere. And then there's Ikan, who chose to renounce his claim because he's pretty much turned into a Shin'a'in."

"Wow," said Theodren, a shocked looked crossing his normally calm face. "I had no idea there were so many children."

"There are also the 5 younger girls. My parents wanted a big family," Colby smiled as he pushed open the door to a rather bright and airy suite. "And that's not including the other kids my mother basically adopted, like Healer Kiel and Bard Ista."

"This is nice," Heath said, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

"So you know Ista well?" Theodren took one of the other seats as Colby rang a bell for lunch.

"She's one of my moms little pets. My mother dressed her, and taught her the language, and took her to a safe place when she was attacked." Colby chuckled. "Crystalline and I always said that she liked Ista more than us. So did Ikan, the other prince. Ikan and Ista were always close."

"Attacked?" repeated Theodren.

"Ikan?" asked Heath.

* * *

"Ikan," Ista said flailing her arm around, "Ikan, where's my ale?"  
"You have a concert today," Ikan taunted, setting a pitcher of fine honeyed melon juice in front of the Bard, "No being drunk. You're expected to play."

"Yes, but that's not for a while." Ista took a sip from the juice. "You know I'm not twelve anymore. I can have something a little stronger than honeyed juice!"

"Hey, you need to be sober," Ikan repeated, "I need you by my side for the ball. I need _someone_ to ward off all those idiot girls."

"Whatever you need. You know everyone already thinks we're together."

"You look happy."

"I am happy." Ista took another sip of her juice. "I have a good life. I live in the palace, I perform for the king, and my music is known throughout the country and beyond." She took another sip and turned her face to the window.

"And yet you've never been happy before. And right now is a hard time. You know why I'm here." Ikan watched as Ista felt the noon sun warm her face. As her hair glistened in the light, he wished with all his heart that she could truly enjoy the beauty of the warm day. "This is not exactly a happy time for the world."

"I know it's the right thing."

"Horsecrap. It's not the right thing. Deposing a good king is never the right thing. And he _is_ a good king. He's just a little brain addled."

Ista shot Ikan a terrified look. "Should you be saying that in here?"  
Ikan shook his head, realising his error. "Ista, we're in a private room. All the noise you here is downstairs. Just you, me and Piel in this room. And Piel is sword-sworn. And I did ask the shaman to ask the goddess. She…approves of the plan. So Piel cannot break his silence on this."

"Oh." Ista took another sip of her juice, feeling incredibly disabled. "So have you and Colby hammered out a plan?"

"Actually," Ikan said, "Mother has. She knows what Jkatha needs."

"You need me." Ista said, repeating what her gift seemed to whisper in her ear. "You need my help with something. You can't do this without me."

"Which is why I brought you here. Away from the maids, away from the bards, and away from the nobles. We had thought almost everything through, until that night you had an audience with mother and father."

"I don't see the point." Ista finished her drink, setting it down on the worn wooden table with a frustrated clunk. "I talked to him about the school and the crops in the western front."

"He knew you lied," Ikan said, leaning closer to Ista, "You didn't tell him about Rhian, and he asked if you took on a protégé, and you said no, and he knew you were lying. Mother was there."

"I don't understand."

"What if he asks you if anyone is planning to take his throne?"

"He won't."

"He's becoming more and more paranoid, Issie. What if he does? And you lie? He'll get frustrated. We're trying to make this a quiet revolution."

"What are you going to do, send me to the dungeon?"  
"How's Seejay?"

"No."

"What?" Ikan was shocked. Ista had wanted to get out of the city, by her own admission, for years now. The King had always denied her, and yet her she was denying her own chance. "Why not?"

"I am not going to run away. You need me. Your brother needs me."

"Meric can handle himself," Ikan snapped, frustrated that Ista wasn't doing what he asked. "He's not a child."

"He's sixteen!" Ista stood up from the table, shoving it into Ikan's gut. "He's just a child. I'm the only certainty he has."

"You burned yourself out! You need a break from all this anyways."

"And going to a new place where I'll be forced to use my gift all the time is just _not_ going to help. I mean, at least in the palace I know stuff. I'm not in danger of tripping over things in there."

"You're being extremely selfish."

"I'm not going to Seejay, not with the Heralds. I don't like this "you're going, it's settled" train of thought. What if I don't want to go? Why was I just told? Am I not worthy to be asked?"

"You're acting like a child, Ista. This is what needs to be done. It's the plan."

"Glorious plans lead to glorious funerals, Icky-poo," Ista practically spat at Ikan, using his childhood nickname as a taunt.

"You know"

"No, I don't! Enlighten me, O great one!"

"You know," Piel interrupted from his spot in the corner, "If you think about it Ista, it's not a bad plan. And Ikan, if you would stop trying to force her to do it, you'd be much better off. She's not the child you described to me."

Ista leaned on the window sill, her gaze seemingly fixed on the eternal darkness that stretched beyond her eyes. She and Ikan fought like brother and sister, but truly did love each other. Ista often wished Ikan wasn't the way he was, and he could love her romantically. But she had gotten over that need years ago, and turned it into a half wish to be tucked away in a spare corner of her mind.

Ikan stared at Ista, wishing he had Thoughtsensing to aid his younger friend. She had been through a lot in her life. Ikan had rescued her from the Garden, when an angry noble took his wrath out on the tiny, frail, defenceless bard. Ikan had been the one Ista had had her first romantic feelings for. Problem was, Ikan could never return them. He, like Ista, had lost much to magic. In his case, he gave up his libido for the fertility of some land in the east of Jkatha. No one asked him, but Ikan knew at that point that he wanted to spend his life on the plains. He didn't miss romantic feelings. He was just eighteen when he gave up his chances for love.

Ista was six years younger than Ikan. She was twenty-three, he was twenty-nine, and yet they shared so much. Ista told Ikan anything, and he returned the favour. Ikan had often wondered if the Goddess would allow him to swear _She'endra_. But he knew it would have to wait until Ista was in a happy place in her life.

The moment ticked on for the people of Throne City, but for one blind Bard, and one sexless Shin'a'in, it felt like hours. Both thought it through, weighed the options, and wondered what to do next.

"I'm sorry," Ista and Ikan blurted at the same time. Ista hung her head, and Ikan walked over and handed her his mug of ale.

"Its okay, Sweetling. We'll work something out. Now drink up. You'll need to be drunk to deal with the court ninnies."

"Now you're seeing it my way!"


End file.
